Almost Perfect
by Tennyo
Summary: Two writers are extremely different yet find great friendship in each other. Serena is a romance writer who is a great success and has sold millions. Darien is a reporter who has yet to get on the cover page. [completed]
1. one

Almost Perfect // 1

 -+Tennyo

          Darien Rehnquist slammed down my latest novel onto the old table in disgust. "Ugh. You know? Why does all of the male characters, especially the one the heroine is going to fall in love with, are all so muscular in some way…and …and just too damn PERFECT."

          My eyes peeked over the edge of my cup as I finished gulping down the last drop of coffee and let out a satisfying sigh. "So… what? Does that mean you don't like it?"

          Darien took off his glasses and held them in his hand while using his palms in an attempt to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. He sighed. One of those sighs that indicated it had been days since he had last slept properly and wasn't too happy about it.

"No…no, it's quite enticing… as usual. But I just think… I mean well, besides the fact that you're already on the New York Times best selling author list, I think perhaps it would be a bit more…" he paused in search for the right word, "…unique.

Don't you think it's a tad bit irritating that practically all the characters in romance novels are filled with people with a great physique, especially the man or woman that the main character falls in love with? You'd think of the thousands of romance books that have been written by hundreds of different authors would have some variety in them."

          With the way he put it, I supposed he was right. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. But that's what the readers' want! This land of fiction is made for readers who spend their time reading all of these novels so they can indulge in their fantasies. So that maybe, just maybe, for a couple of hours of their lives, they are practically living their dreams. And perhaps, they want hope that someone that perfect was also made for them so that maybe their realities do not seem so bleak. And besides, it's all just pure fiction. It is at the reader's discretion to not get it into their heads."

          Darien started rubbing his eyes- again. I grew irritated watching him put bacteria into his eyes and handed him a napkin. "You know, what would you do if I weren't around? You'd probably be too sick to even walk outside the apartment building. Look at this place!" I dropped my voice down a notch and slightly touched the table, "do you not see how filthy this place is? The table is sticky!"

          Darien took his hands away from his poor, mistreated eyes and took my offered napkin. "You're the one that chose this place, not me."

          I shrugged, absently picking up the empty cup of coffee and frowned at the lack of content. "This place makes a hell of a coffee." I shook my head and vaguely wondered if I should order a third cup. "But I digress. About the perfect characters in my story, why, after seven years of reading all of my work, are you complaining now?"

          Darien slid down in his seat and slouched. It appeared he was under a great deal of stress. "Okay," he sighed loudly, "last week, I was out with-"

          "Oh!" I interrupted, "so _that_ is what this is all about!" I raised an eyebrow at him and slipped into my all time favorite reporter mode. "So, tell me Mr. Chiba, who is the lucky lady." I inquired in a fake-reporter-voice while holding out an imaginary microphone.

          Darien just gave me a warning look that told me if I continued mocking him; he wouldn't give me an ounce of detail and leave me hanging. Well. Isn't someone Mr. Sunshine today! I coughed and straightened up in my chair.

          "Well, as I was saying before I was _rudely_ interrupted," he hesitated for a second, checking to make sure I was paying close attention and wasn't going to go wacky on him again. "I was out with Margaret on our date for the third time this week." Ooo! It appears Mr. Sunshine himself has been busy this week! He and Margaret went out once a while back. What was with the sudden socializing?

Darien cleared his throat as he stared at me to see if I was back from la-la land. "It appeared that all this time she had been using me as a display case to get her ex-boyfriend jealous enough to come back to her." Ouch. Revenge rears its ugly head. I always knew that Margaret would turn out to be a bitch. How did I know? Call it women's intuition. Or it could be her gold plated earrings that said bitch on it. How…nice. Perhaps it was a gift from that not-so-ex-boyfriend of hers.

          "Apparently, after three nights of attending public functions, her little devious plan worked. Last night, her boyfriend asked her for a dance at the reception, gave me an evil glare, and swept her away to the dance floor. She never even looked back." Darien sighed heavily, "So after an hour of pointlessly waiting there and succumbing to everyone's scrutiny, I finally left with the last of my dignity." Darien paused and started staring at the intricate carvings on the mahogany table. I opened my mouth to speak but he continued, "I don't really consider this being such a big loss. It's the fact that I was being so blind and totally unaware of her hidden motive."

          I looked at Darien and wondered. I agreed with him. How _did_ an intelligent man such as Darien himself be so completely unaware and so terribly stupid? Alas, he is my friend so I shall sympathize and not ridicule. "Darien, it's okay. I know you feel like a fool right now but it's not like the ulterior motives were so devastatingly obvious. Besides," I nodded thoughtfully, "it could be due to the fact that you haven't had a date in… quite a while. You were just out of practice. Don't worry about it. You're being way too hard on yourself."

          Darien didn't even look up from the table and muttered as if he was saying this a million times, "Yes, yes, I suppose you're right." Hm. Perhaps he _has_ said it a million times, I _am_ right quite a significant number of times. But he just shook his head and sat up. "That is beside the point. The bottom line that I am trying to make here is that the only reason Margaret had dated me that time ago in the first place is because I am semi-decent looking." Ah, Darien was always the modest one.

          He lifted up my book from where it was discarded and motioned towards it with his other hand. "See! Is this all it comes down to? How someone looks? Is the perfect mate someone with muscles and abs, breasts and butts, strength and curves? Does it even matter much if they were perhaps quick-witted or humorous?"

          I smiled. "Of course it does! The majority of my characters are fully equipped with both body and personality-"

          "-Which makes them all perfect!" Darien exclaimed. "We all know that humans aren't perfect. We all aren't blessed with a charming personality. Where are the FLAWS! Because according to you and hundreds of other romance writers, there _aren't_ any! It should be considered a crime to give readers these false indications," he declared.

          I glared at him. "Look, as I already told you before, these books are fictitious. Practically nothing in it is based on reality. That's the whole beauty of writing." I looked at him intently in the eye. "It doesn't matter how far-fetched the story may be, because it's just a story. The human imagination is limitless and there aren't any boundaries to restrain how real or unreal a story is. All I'm doing is bringing my fantasies and other people's fantasies to life. There," I reached across the table and emphasize each other with a poke to his chest, "is nothing wrong with that."

          Darien encompassed his large hand around my pointed finger and led it away from his chest. For a second, I felt warmth engulf me. I quickly withdrew my hand as if it had been burned and looked at him strangely. I didn't see any kind of reaction on his face. Maybe it was just me. "No, I suppose there is nothing wrong with that. It is perhaps why I became a reporter and you became a fictitious writer. You indulge in your fantasies and I surround myself with facts."

          I smiled brightly at him. Jumping back into my happy old self. "Yep, yep! Which makes us the perfect team!"

          Darien glared at me. As if mentioning the word perfect in his presence was a sin. I changed my sentence. "…Which makes us the coolest buddies! Yeah!" I punched my fist into the air like an overzealous cheerleader.

          Darien's icy demeanor melted away at my silliness and grinned. "Yes we are. Except I am the cooler buddy and you are just the cool buddy. See! It works out mathematically! Cool plus cooler equals coolest. It can't be any other way besides that."

          "Oh yes it can! _I_ am the cooler buddy and _you_ are just the cool buddy." I retaliated. "Haha! I am unstoppable! No one can beat me!" I laughed out loud like a maniac, causing the people in the café to stare. But I didn't care! Because I am the greatest romance fiction writer of all time! Actually, no, I am not that egotistical. It is so I could enjoy the blush creeping up Darien's face.

          "Argh," he groaned, "Why do you always do this? Especially when we go outside. Is it your ultimate goal to publicly humiliate me at every single café and restaurant in all of New York City?"

          His embarrassment only made me laugh louder. "Oh posh, Darien. I know you don't mind. Why else do you continue to meet me in the most crowded of places? Come on! Don't be such a bugger and LAUGH with me! Just let loose and laugh!" I yelled in the now not-so-quiet café, causing even more heads to turn and look at the strange woman laughing her ass off. Did she escape from a sanitarium? They wondered.

          Darien raised an eyebrow and looked at me oddly. If we were a comic book, there would be a big bulgy sweat drop appearing next to his face. I just laughed louder, if that was at all humanly possible. It was starting to get high-pitched now. Like that of a hyena's. "Come on Darien! I know you're under a lot of stress from that whole Margaret ordeal. Just let it all out with a couple of laughs!" The level of silence was just deafening. If this were a movie, there'd by crickets chirping.

          Darien cleared his throat and quickly stood up from his seat so that the wooden chair scraped against the floor. His eyes darted nervously from left to right, glancing over the amount of people that were staring at that loud woman. He grabbed my wrist, pulled me up from my chair, and started dragging me towards the door. "Uh..." he chuckled nervously, "Nothing to see here. She purposefully forgot to take her medication this morning. Don't worry, she'll be all right."

          A couple of understanding nods here and there and the level of noise was back up again before we stepped out into the summer heat. My laughter died down as soon as the door closed behind us. "You _do_ realize that we didn't pay for the coffee, right?"

          Darien paused in mid-step and almost stumbled. "What! Oh, no! I totally forgot!" He turned towards the café but I caught him by the wrist.

          "Don't tell me you're actually gonna go back in there just so you can pay a couple of dollars. Are you really that desperate to relive your embarrassment?" I grinned mischievously as I remembered that panicked look on his face.

          His face tightened and he started walking ahead of me. "Fine. If I had known that you were going to pull another one of your quirky acts, I would've ordered another damn cup of coffee!"

          I laughed out loud and ran to catch up to him. I touched him on the shoulder and he swerved around. "Why do you always do that anyway?"

          I blinked at him innocently. "Always do what?"

          "The laughing hyena thing! You always do that! This must be the tenth time that we walked out without paying. Now I know it's not because you are lacking any money. So what is it?"

          I grinned slyly. "No, it's because you are."

          "I d- what?!"

          "Yeah! You always insist on paying. What is up with that? This is the twenty first century honey! I don't need a man to pay for me. I can handle all finances quite well thank you very much."

          Darien just looked at me, stupefied. Oh boy, this day is looking up! I really wish I had a camera with me. It was already the second time today that Darien had another Kodak moment, and it was only ten in the morning. I should really consider getting one of those digital cameras and really capture the essence of Darien.

          "You- you what! All those crazy, lunatic scenes were for me?" He started walking quickly ahead of me again. "You could have easily said no, Darien, I got it. But nooo, you'd rather resort to your demented ways and embarrass me not to pay. I would have just let you paid if you asked, you know."

          I started jogging slightly to match his quick, gigantic footsteps. At the rate he was going, he'd be talking to himself if I walked any slower. It wouldn't do for others to think he was more out of it than he already is. "And you would've argued with me. You would've said your mother brought you up to be a gentleman. And that no matter how financially unable you are, you would still pay. Even if you were bankrupt, you would pay. It's etched in your damn genes."

          Darien paused abruptly, causing me to walk back. "You're right. I would've argued and still insisted on paying. You know me too well. It's kind of scary." He resumed his walking, but this time at a regular pace.

          "Well, it's kind of scary how much you know me too. So I guess we're even," I said.

          For a couple of blocks, we wandered around the busy streets of Manhattan, pausing every few seconds to window gaze. Upon looking at a pink feather boa displaying in a glass case of a costume shop, it hit me.

          I grabbed onto Darien's arm and started jumping up and down. "Darien! I got it! I have a most interesting proposition to make!"

          "What, what?" he asked annoyingly. It was after years of practice that allowed him to maintain his balance while a hundred pound lunatic used him as a balance to jump up and down hysterically. Even after he mastered the art of acting as a rock, he never really liked it.

          "We could totally switch!" I stopped jumping but kept my death grip on his arm. He cleared his throat and stared at the offending hands. "Darien dear, are you developing a cold? Perhaps you need some of my good old chicken soup to bring you back to health."

          Darien quickly stepped back and waved his hands frantically in front of him. "No, no! That's okay! I'm just um, making sure there aren't any bugs caught in my throat. You know how it is, you open your mouth for two seconds and they come flying in."

          I laughed so hard that tears started forming in my eyes. "Haha! You're still afraid of my cooking?! Okay, I don't blame you. I need some work on the cooking. But anyway," I breathed deeply and tried to keep a straight face. "Here is my proposal."

          "Aren't you supposed to get on your knees before you do that?" I looked up at Darien and saw him trying to look like he was deeply moved by the thought of me proposing.

          "All right, all right. Cut it out." I looked up at him and made sure he was paying attention. "This is how it goes. How about, the next story I write, it will be as you say… realistic. I mean well, can't be TOO realistic, but not everyone's perfect yah? And your next article won't be so… factual. I mean, I swear, I fall asleep every time I read your news article. I never get past the first paragraph."

          Darien glared and gave me that how-dare-you-criticize-me look. "It's a NEWS article. It's supposed to be factual. That's why people READ them so that they'll be informed of what is going on in the world! It's not like one of your little love stories where they fall in love and live happily ever after. It's real life! Real shit that goes on in the streets! How do you expect me to write away from the truth?"

          "Excuse me, excuse me. Little love story? Now I know you did NOT just call my novel a little love story. Go ask any one of your coworkers and they'll TELL you that it is most definitely _not_ a "little love story"." The nerve of that guy! Insulting my stories! "Just because you're a little bit grouchy that none of your stories made the cover does NOT mean that you should denounce my work."

          "All right, all right! You're right, and I'm wrong. Is that what you want me to say?" he held his hands up defensively.

          I calmed down. He was usually the one that calmed down first, but today was an unusual day. It happens. Our work was a very touchy subject. "No, no. All I'm trying to say is, even the greatest reporters fibbed a little. I'm asking you to just… exaggerate." I looked up at him and saw him open his mouth in protest. "Not just completely exaggerate everything out of proportion, but just add some _life_ to it so that maybe it _will_ get on the cover page."

          I stood there with my arms crossed, waiting for a response. He thought about it for a while then said, "Hm… ok. It's a deal." He held out his right hand and I held out mine. We wiggled our fingers to seal the deal. 

(It's our secret handshake! Shh… you're not supposed to know…)

---

hey hey! How do you like my story? To those of you that have read my other stories and are waiting for an update… sorry, it can't happen right now. The new system kind of lost my data even though the stories are there. Right now, I don't know how to fix the problem, but we'll see eh? Since I can't update, I've written this new story! I hope to finish this one. At this length, you could expect me to update about once a week. But sometimes, it might get longer so it might be once a month instead. Who knows? I might slip into my bouts of laziness. Ok! Thank you for reading! Hurray hurray! *grins*

feedback!!! : tennyo012@yahoo.com

oh yeah. I forgot to write this at top…

DISCLAIMERS!!:: sailor moon and all of its related characters do not belong to me, but this story does!

Hehehe! *giggles like a maniac* tata~! Thanks so much for reading! :D


	2. two

Almost Perfect // 2  
  
-+Tennyo  
  
I groaned in frustration and banged my head against the wall several times. It's actually a secret method that I use to develop ideas. Really. You should try it sometime.  
  
Writing a so-called "realistic" story was harder than I initially thought, and I was the one that came up with the idea. Aren't I a genius? However, pride wouldn't allow me to back away from the deal now! I must prevail! I must WIN!  
  
Speaking of winning, Darien and I never spoke of a wager. I mean, going through so much trouble just to learn each other's perspectives shouldn't be a fruitless battle! Fine, we get to experience and experiment with a whole new way of thinking. But since when did anyone do anything just for those reasons? There had to be some kind of motive involved. I wasn't going to bend over backwards for nothing.  
  
So I picked up the phone that sat right next to my desk and dialed Darien's work number from memory. Being the prompt person that he was, he picked up on the first ring.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So you will marry me! Oh my gosh! Darien! That is what I've wanted to hear since the moment I first laid eyes on you! My heart is aflutter with excitement!"  
  
"Can the sarcasm, Serena, I have work to do."  
  
I snorted. "You? Do work? Ha!"  
  
"Contrary to your personal belief, Serena, other people do have to work on a regular basis."  
  
"Ha-ha. You know that wasn't what I meant."  
  
"Oh, do I?" he joked, "So why'd you call? I know it isn't so you could hear my beautiful voice over the phone, especially since you could hear it in person."  
  
"Oh please, don't make me sick. Anyway, what article are you working on now?"  
  
"Why?" he asked suspiciously, "Since when did you care about what I write? As I recall, your comment on my last article was "where's the rest of it?" "  
  
"Sor-ry," I said, not feeling sorry at all. "It just ended a little… abruptly."  
  
"It was a CAR CRASH and a woman DIED, how continuous could it possibly be?"  
  
"Okay, okay. So what are you working on now? Another dead corpse?"  
  
"You know, Serena. You can be so heartless sometimes."  
  
"I'm sorry if someone dies in New York City almost everyday, but I think we're all a little used to it by now. It's a little sad though, isn't it?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"But what can we do about it?"  
  
"Nothing much."  
  
"Life's a bitch and then you die, is that it?"  
  
"Pretty much, yeah."  
  
I heard nothing over the phone except the busy clacking of the keyboard. I guess Darien really did have something to do, but I had a mission to accomplish!  
  
"I know you're trying to ignore me Darien, but you forget that I am un-ignorable."  
  
"Sure, sure."  
  
"Darien!" I whined over the phone. He hates it when I whine. I know for a fact that I could get him to do anything when I whined. What can I say? It's a talent.  
  
"No! Not with the whining! What do you want?"  
  
"Your firstborn child."  
  
Darien groaned. "Serena, just get right to the point. I've been talking to you for three minutes already and I still don't know what you're talking about. Stop beating around the bush and just come out with it!"  
  
"I do NOT beat around the bush!"  
  
"Yes you do!"  
  
"No I don't!"  
  
"Okay, okay! WHATEVER. Just hurry up, I'm kind of busy here."  
  
"You're the one that wouldn't tell me what you're working on!" I yelled.  
  
"What does what I'm working on have to do with anything?"  
  
"It's about the agreement we had yesterday. Or have you already forgotten?"  
  
"No, I didn't forget."  
  
"So what are you working on?" I snorted, "And you say I beat around the bush."  
  
"I'm working on an article about Independence Day."  
  
"Oh yeah! That's coming up in a few weeks isn't it?"  
  
"Yep, the editor told us to write a tribute to it."  
  
"Us? Not just you?"  
  
"No, I think she's going to pick one."  
  
"Great! So that means you could give yours the edge that it needs over the others! If you add some flavor into it, yours will definitely be picked!"  
  
"And how, pray tell, do you expect me to add some "flavor" into it?"  
  
"Just look at my work and you'll find out."  
  
"Ha-ha," he laughed dryly, "You're so funny."  
  
"But seriously. Independence Day is a really important day in our history. It wouldn't be that hard to put more feeling and emotion into it. It should be tear-inducing."   
  
"Right. And I'm going to take pointers from a novelist."  
  
"Ugh. You don't want to get me started again."  
  
"No. I don't."  
  
"I'm glad we're on the same page here. Anyway, you're right. I do beat around the bush. Well not in the sense that I'm purposely trying to evade the subject, but it just takes me a while to get to my point."  
  
"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."  
  
"Sure, keep thinking that. Anyway, I called to see if we could set up a wager."  
  
"A wager? What for?"  
  
"For the deal we made. It'd be pretty pointless to change our whole perspective on writing just so we could learn from the experience."  
  
"Learning is good."  
  
"Riight. And that's why you used your master's degree in English, so you could become a teacher," I said, "So what do you say?"  
  
"I say sure! Why not? Seeing as how I'm going to beat you anyway, let's turn it up a notch."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "A little overconfident there are we?"  
  
"I'm not being overconfident," he said, "It's the truth."  
  
"Right, keep deluding yourself."  
  
"So how's about whoever loses has to pay for a cruise to the Bahamas."  
  
"That's great! I've always wanted to go there."  
  
"Aww, sorry to take your dream away for you."  
  
"The price is a bit out of your range isn't it?"  
  
"I don't have to worry about that since you're going to be the one paying."  
  
"Keep dreaming Rehnquist."  
  
"So is it a deal then?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a deal."  
  
We both hung up and I grew even more determined at writing this new novel. Never mind the fact that I just recently finished writing one and had to promote it once it was published, I had a cruise to go on! So I wiggled my fingers above the keyboard and got to work.  
  
Getting to work wasn't easy mind you, it was quite the contrary. I typed out a few paragraphs before I realized what I was doing. Baloney! Complete baloney! I was in the middle of describing the man's confident aura that utterly attracted the protagonist. Sure it was a nice trait to have, but being confident all the time isn't always a good thing. Argh! Who reads this trash?  
  
I giggled out loud. Gosh Serena, millions of people do!   
  
Well, why not billions? Because it sucks! These type of fantasies don't ever happen in real life! Why do people waste their time reading stuff that will never happen to them? Why would they read things that they can't possibly relate to?  
  
No dear, stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's only because billions of people either can't read English or can't read at all.  
  
Oh.  
  
So while I was having conversations with myself, I noticed lunch was fast approaching. My fondness for food was becoming a little scary, even for me. But who cares? What's the point of living if you can't live happily? And eating is what makes me happy, I assured myself.  
  
I grabbed my keys, along with my wallet, and headed to my favorite restaurant. It was this cozy little Italian restaurant that had outdoor tables. I loved eating while enjoying the warm weather and watching people's day to day interactions. Where else do you think most of my ideas come from?  
  
Since it was only two blocks away, I didn't bother driving. It was useless to drive in Manhattan anyway. You'd only waste more time trying to find a parking space. So I walked there and was glad to see that there were still a few empty seats left outside. I sat down and ordered my favorite spaghetti and meatballs. Sure I could've ordered something more exotic, but why change my preference when I'm perfectly satisfied with it?  
  
I had also lugged my laptop along with me, just in case I had a brilliant stroke of genius. Really, those things happened in the most inopportune moments and if I didn't quickly jot it down, I'd always end up forgetting it. Tsk. So many good ideas are lost that way.   
  
I couldn't even count the number of times I had a fantastic idea that brought on goosebumps. It was losing ideas like those that I always end up regretting. There's always that itching feeling in my head that goes, what if that was the next bestseller?  
  
It was all right though. I finally shrugged that habit off by carrying my laptop around with me. Or if I was lazy, I'd carry a little notepad at the very least. Being a professional writer didn't mean I could just toss off ideas and hope for new ones to come. I had a schedule to keep. It may seem lax to others, but it's actually not. Each time a deadline loomed closer and closer, I would stay up nights, trying to squeeze out every last detail.  
  
Sometimes, ideas came in a flourish. And sometimes there'd be a drought. Those times always plagued my days. I never had a free second during that period. I would always worry if I would be able to get over the block and finish the novel in time. Being successful didn't ease the worries. It tripled it, in fact. The worries became more than being able to meet the deadlines. Added to it was also the worry of being able to meet people's expectations. Now that I had a fan base, I had to do my best to keep them and maybe even get more. And the only way to do that is to keep them happy.  
  
How do I keep them happy? The hell if I know. But right now, I seemed to be doing a good job at it. Maybe one day, I'd get around to opening all those fan letters. It's not like I didn't care about what they thought, I do. It's just that after the first couple of letters came rolling in, it was tiring to read the same thing over and over. I really appreciated the fact that they enjoyed the story and went through the trouble of mailing me their thoughts, but couldn't they say something else besides the fact that they LOVED such and such character and if I would write a sequel to it?  
  
It's great that they liked the story, but why couldn't they give more personal input. Instead of just saying that they loved the novel, why couldn't they say why they loved it? I couldn't reproduce the same type of characters all the time, but I could use the essence of a story over again and make it into something new if they liked it so much.  
  
Maybe I was asking for too much. What person in their right mind would spend their day writing to a novelist about her story? I don't know, but those first few letters were discouraging. It didn't give me the feedback that I wanted. Or maybe I shouldn't have given up so early. Yeah, maybe the answers I wanted were in the more recent letters.  
  
So as it is commonly said: there's only one way to find out. However, that could wait for a little while longer. The waiter came with my food and placed it in front of me. He left with a smile and a bon apetite! Why was he speaking French in an Italian restaurant? Damned if I know.  
  
I dug into the steamy plate of spaghetti and nearly gobbled it down. It was very unladylike of me to be chomping down a whole plate of spaghetti and meatballs like a starved woman, but who cares? Of course, I was receiving a few stares here and there- which is very rude I might add- but I didn't know these people, so it was okay.  
  
A noise disturbed my feasting, however, and I turned to see the cause of the ruckus. I looked up just in time to see a woman yank a diamond ring off her left hand and flung it at a man.  
  
"That's IT! We're through!" The woman yelled and began to stomp off in a fury. The man caught up with her with a confused look on his face. He looked nervously around the restaurant, embarrassed at being the center of attention. The woman grabbed his face so that she could look directly at him.  
  
"You NEVER get it. You're NEVER going to get it," she said each word slowly as if it would help him understand. "Even now, when I'm about to leave you, all you care about is what people think of you. Since when did you become so concerned with your appearance?"  
  
The man spoke softly and I couldn't catch his words. Whatever he said must've pissed her off because she snatched her arm away from his grasp and walked away with her head held high and her shoulders straight.  
  
"When you finally realize that a wife isn't an emotionless possession," she said, "Give me a call."  
  
I was close enough to the show to see the woman's weakened resolve as she walked away from her husband. Her confident steps were dragging towards the ground a little, and her proud stance was slightly slumped. It hurt some part of me to see a married couple break up, and I realized then, what I had forgotten about real life. It was buried underneath all the fairy dust that my heart was hiding under: the fact that people do get hurt and nothing ever turns out the way you want them to. Life mates fought, too. After the first few weeks, all the glam and the glitz wore off and you start to see your significant other in a different light. Flaws that you couldn't, or wouldn't see before are magnified tenfold.   
  
So what do people do then?  
  
Everyone wishes that things will always work out, but more often that not, they don't. Maybe it is because of this despondency that makes my novels so attractive to so many readers. I weaved stories that their hearts want to read, not their brains. It might be better to write something more realistic, but what would be the point? Why would anyone want to read about something that they have already experienced in real life? It'd be like paying to see a movie you starred in. It wouldn't make any sense.  
  
This puzzled me for awhile, and I sat there idly, forgetting about my food. The man was still standing there, looking forlorn and lost at the spot where his wife had previously stood. I wanted to scream in his face. Why was he just standing there? He should catch her before she's gone for good!  
  
But as I sat there, staring at his dejected face, I sympathized. How do you ever know when something is worth chasing for? There are so many opportunities for mistakes, so many paths that are strewn with rocks. How do you ever know when it's the right time to risk hurting your feet?  
  
Suddenly, the man snapped out of his stupor and his face lit up. His whole body seemed to change as he renewed his determination. He clutched the ring that was in his hand and sprinted in the direction where his wife had gone.  
  
I was left in a state of awe. It seemed like a miracle to witness that kind of realization firsthand. Instantly, I hoped the man would work it out with his wife, that he would improve whatever his wife had found reason enough to break off their marriage. The woman had said to call her later, so maybe he still had a chance to make it up to her. Maybe this could even be the basis for my new story and maybe they could-  
  
I stopped myself short.  
  
So this is what Darien was talking about. I chuckled to myself.   
  
People don't change that easily.  
  
---  
  
Hey people! This seemed like the PERFECT place to end, so I did! :D I hope you guys like the rewrite. Thanks to all the reviewers who pointed out that some of the chapters had nothing to do with the storyline. I think it was EI and CR who mentioned it. Thanks a lot guys!  
  
I hope this sticks more to what this whole story is about. If not, please tell me soon! I love all the feedback you guys give me and it gives me more motive to write better. *huggles* Thanks!  
  
Tennyo012@yahoo.com 


	3. three

Almost Perfect // 3  
  
-+Tennyo  
  
The fly buzzed around the room, flying from one wall to the next as if it couldn't quite decide which wall to rest on. I sighed exasperatedly and glanced at the clock above the television set in my living room wall. It was 11AM and I was lazily fanning myself with a folding fan that my mother had given me.  
  
I had started out the day by flipping through all the fan mails and it felt like another world. It was one of the few times that I actually did something right after I said I would, and it gave me even more resolve to sort through every single one of them. However, as I read yet another letter praising my novel and not much else, my resolve weakened.  
  
I slumped against the couch and stared at the pile of envelopes that I had precariously dumped on my coffee table. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now my beloved coffee table was completely covered with mail. How am I ever going to drink my coffee properly now?  
  
They weren't flames mind you, though I did get a few of those here and there, but still not what I was looking for. What was I looking for exactly? I didn't really know, but I figured I'd know it when I saw it. Just something that would tell me what sort of story people were looking for. Maybe I had underdeveloped a character and they would like to see that type of character more prominently in another story, or something like that. Just…SOMETHING! Anything would do!  
  
However, as the hours passed and the pile thinned, I was getting more and more discouraged. The answer that I was looking for wasn't there and continuing to search was futile.  
  
This was boring. The air conditioner was broken and I had no place else to go. Trying to go through dozens of letters was making the heat even more unbearable. With my other hand, I picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. Nothing! What was a girl to do?  
  
Finally, I stood up and stared at the few remaining unopened envelopes in disdain. I give up. This was tiring and it was just about lunch time anyway. I gasped. It was lunch time! And today was… Saturday!   
  
Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. Darien! He probably isn't working today. Quickly, I went back into my room and got out of my pajamas. I changed into a yellow tank top and a pair of khaki colored shorts. I put on my white flip flops, grabbed my handbag with my car keys, and was out the door in two shakes. Who said a woman couldn't dress quickly?  
  
--+  
  
Driving to Darien's was a bit of a problem. He lived in one of those apartments where everything was crowded. The apartment was crowded, the garage was crowded and worst of all- the streets were crowded. Alas, being the skillful driver that I am, I quickly parked my car and walked up to his apartment building.  
  
I walked in and waved to the security guard at the desk. I've been in here enough times for him to recognize me. Finally, I reached his apartment on the twelfth floor and raised my fist to knock on his door but found that it was unlocked. I rolled my eyes. When is he ever going to learn that Manhattan can be a dangerous place and people steal anything that isn't bolted down?  
  
So, I marched in, fully prepared to give him the speech.  
  
"Darien! Do you realize how dangerous it is to leave your door unlocked?" I shouted, but my cries fell upon deaf ears. The living room was empty, so was his bedroom, and his apartment was eerily quiet. Eh? Where did he go? I was beginning to get worried, that maybe he got kidnapped or something, when I heard the shower running. Without thinking, I stormed in there and started yelling.  
  
"Darien! Did you hear me?! I was getting all worried! The least you could've done was ans-" I paused and began to look at the figure taking a shower- the naked figure.  
  
"Whoops." I managed to utter.  
  
Darien just looked at me like a deer caught in front of headlights. Realization finally set in and he grabbed a towel from the rack. "Serena! What do you think you're doing? Haven't you ever heard of knocking?!" A blush actually began to creep up his neck. Haha! This was hilarious!  
  
I snorted. "Oh calm down, nothing I haven't seen already." For a moment, we kind of just stood there and looked at each other: I, with amusement, and he with embarrassment, edging towards anger.  
  
It was really steamy in here, what was he doing taking such a hot shower on such a humid day? That thought left my mind though, when I noticed the bubbles still gleaming in his hair. "You haven't rinsed out your shampoo yet."  
  
It was his turn to roll his eyes when he said, "You're still standing in my bathroom."  
  
I had the decency to blush, but I was proud to admit that it wasn't as much as what Darien was revealing. "Well, now that we've stated the obvious, I shall take my leave." I dramatically exited the bathroom and closed the door behind me.  
  
I started walking around his cool apartment. It was rather neat and spacious for such a tiny apartment. I kneeled on his black leather sofa and shoved my face in front of the air conditioner until I got a headache. Feeling cooler, I went into his kitchen and stuck my head into his freezer to look for some ice cream. His freezer was filled with microwaveable pizza and the all the good stuff. Hmm… That sounded like a good idea! I rummaged through all the frozen foods and found what I was looking for: delicious mouth-watering chocolate ice cream. I took it out and placed it on his island table and began digging around for his ice cream scooper. When I found it, I tried to scoop the ice cream out, but it wouldn't budge. This thing was as hard as rock!  
  
I was still stabbing the ice cream with a gleam of vengeance in my eyes when Darien walked out of the bathroom, still rather naked. The only thing that was keeping his decency was a towel tied around his waist and another one draped casually around his neck. The first thing he noticed was me, trying to kill the innocent ice cream. He raised his left eyebrow and looked at me oddly.   
  
"What are you doing?" He asked, as if he was talking to a psycho who would snap and kill him at any moment. I suppose the latter part was partially true.  
  
My pounding didn't miss a beat when I replied through gritted teeth, "I'm trying to scoop out your darn ice cream. Why is it so bloody hard?"  
  
Darien just looked at me like I was the most dim-witted person he had ever had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting. Right now, with the way I was acting, I couldn't really blame him. He walked to the other side of the island table, sat down, and looked at me through bored eyes. The nerve of the guy!  
  
"Well? Don't just sit there, do something!"  
  
Darien put his left elbow on the table, rested his head on his palm, and smiled lazily. "You're an independent woman, you can handle it yourself." He drawled out mockingly.  
  
I sighed in disgust and threw the ice cream scooper at him. "Oh, shut up." I was appalled to see that the dummy had caught it. I groaned inwardly, another thing that some guys are just better at - catching. I wouldn't be able to catch something smaller than a beach ball if my life depended on it! Unless, of course, it was say… two feet away.  
  
He didn't begin to scoop, however. Instead, he was walking into the kitchen towards the microwave. I slapped my forehead. Why hadn't I thought of that? Darien put the ice cream in the microwave and set it for twenty seconds. He turned around and looked at me smugly. "You go, girl," he said.  
  
I glared at him. "Asshole." I went up and smacked his arm.  
  
"Ow! Why'd you do that for?" he said while rubbing the spot where a red imprint of my hand was beginning to form.  
  
I went back to the island table and leaned my back against it. I crossed my arms and said, "You deserved it. It serves you right for making fun of feminism. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your mother." I stopped for a moment. "How is she by the way?"  
  
"She's fine." He said, "You're the one that's always declaring how women are equal and whatnot. You can't make amends for yourself if you don't make amends for the male population. It's not fair."  
  
"What do you mean I make amends?" I asked quizzically.  
  
The microwave beeped and Darien moved to take the ice cream out. "Well, just now. You expected me to help you scoop out the ice cream when you're always going on and on about how women can be just as strong as men." He opened the dishwasher and took out two spoons and two bowls. "You can't expect us to treat you fairly if there are some things that you excuse yourself for."  
  
I stood there and started thinking what he had just said. I supposed he was right. Men and women could never be truly equal; there were just some things that men were better at than women, and vice versa. It was the natural way of things, I supposed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. By the natural order of things, men are usually stronger than women." Darien nodded in agreement and began to scoop ice cream into a bowl. "And women are usually smarter than men." I stated.  
  
Darien stopped at a half-nod. "What!"  
  
"It's true! The "great" leaders of this country were only great because they had influence from their wives. Take John Adams, for example. Whenever he needed to decide on a grave matter concerning the well being of the country, he would always consult his wife. And good old Abigail would always come up with an intelligent answer."  
  
He gave me a face and sat down on my stool. "Whatever. Think what you want, even though it's not true." He pushed my bowl forward. "Eat your ice cream before it melts."  
  
I looked down at my bowl, and then at his bowl. "Hey! How come you have two scoops?! I only have one! That's not fair!" I walked around to the other side and plopped down on the stool. I grabbed the container, only to find it empty. "Ew! You finished it all!" I said. "Are you trying to further prove, through your demented ways, your point on how men and women are not equal by giving me less?"  
  
"No. I gave myself two scoops, then I looked in the container and found that there was only one scoop left. A miscalculation of mine, sorry." He paused for a moment and appeared to think intently. "- Though that IS a good idea. Another way women would never be equal to men would be that they are known to eat less. Your bodies are physically smaller and therefore cannot handle as much food."  
  
"What kind of psychobabble are you spouting? That is NOT true. I can finish mine AND yours."  
  
"Well… that's just you, Serena. You're the exception, not the rule. The capacity of your stomach is limitless."   
  
I stuck my tongue out and began to devour my ice cream. That is, I would have devoured it under normal circumstances. I could've just swallowed the whole thing, but it was rather chilly in Darien's apartment and I had to take tiny bites to prevent myself from getting a brain freeze.  
  
Moments later, I heard a clang and looked up to see Darien finished with his ice cream and getting up to get some napkins. He took one and wiped the chocolate stain off his mouth and gave me one as well. Then he sat there rested his head on his palm again, apparently staring off into space.  
  
I was beginning to do that as well, when Darien interrupted me. "What do you mean you've seen it all before?" I blinked a few times, not really knowing what he was saying.  
  
"What?"  
  
"In the bathroom, you said you've seen it all before."  
  
"Oh. That. Well, factually, before I decided to drop everything and become a professional writer, I went to med school. Remember?" He nodded and urged me to go on. "Well, one of the bodies we observed was male, so, yeah."  
  
Darien raised his eyebrow and started to grin. "I'm sure that was an excruciating experience for you." He said sarcastically.  
  
"Oh, yeah," I nodded, "It was."  
  
I started playing with the ice cream. It didn't seem as delicious as it was ten seconds ago. The cold was really getting to me, and since I was only wearing a yellow tank top with khaki shorts, I was feeling goosebumps all over the place. I began to swing my dangling feet back and forth while the ice cream continued to turn into a dark brown puddle.  
  
"Are you cold?" Darien asked.  
  
Out of sheer stubbornness, I said no. Darien just sighed, got up, and walked into his bedroom. He emerged, wearing clothing this time, and carrying the small blanket that I loved. I found him cuddled in it once, while he was dozing off on the couch. It was the cutest sight I had ever seen, but of course, I couldn't just let him sleep there while I, Serena the Great, was over. So I had grabbed it and he instantly awoke. We had spent that entire afternoon chasing each other for the blanket. It was his baby blanket and it had some holes in it, but it was very warm and soft to cuddle against.   
  
He draped the blanket over my shoulders and I gathered it around me. "Thank you." I said politely.  
  
Darien took his seat across the island table and resumed his position, this time, however, staring lazily at me. "You look so small underneath that blanket. You usually look… bigger."  
  
I made a face. "Shut up. I AM small, but my great personality makes me look big."  
  
Darien snickered. "More like you're big head makes you look big."  
  
My hands flew to the sides of my head. "They're not big! They're perfectly fine!"  
  
"I was referring to your inflated ego, but never mind. They're fine. Now finish your ice cream, it's already melting."  
  
I began to whine a little. "But I don't want to…"  
  
"Think of all those poor children in Africa!" He exclaimed.  
  
"You sound like my mother. Are you trying to sound like my mother? Is that it? Are you mocking my mother?"  
  
Darien grinned amusedly. "No, no. I'm just telling you, all those children in Africa would want some of that ice cream right now. If you think it's hot here, imagine how hot it is there. They're probably boiling right now."  
  
"Alright, alright. You made your point." I picked up the bowl and drained the brown liquid. It was just like drinking syrup, except colder. I put the bowl back down and began to swing my feet again. We both looked like space monkeys, the way we were staring off into space like that.  
  
Darien spoke up again, just as my eyes were beginning to cross from staring at the patterns of his marble counter for so long. "What about un-factually?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, you said factually, you saw a male body at med school. So there has to be an un-factually," he quipped. Great. A columnist for the New York Times and he was saying words like "un-factually".  
  
"Oh. That. Well, don't you remember?"  
  
"Remember what?"  
  
"We took a bath together once."  
  
"What! When?" His eyes bulged out and now he looked like a suffocating space monkey.  
  
"When we were little, I remember we were playing in the mud together. It was a hot summer day, just like this one, and we decided to make a mud pool. We were flinging mud pies at each other when my mother saw the disaster and dragged us in. I think you were over my house, or I was over yours, I don't remember."  
  
Darien looked blank. "How come I don't remember this?"  
  
I shrugged. "Guys don't remember these kinds of things, I guess."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"Nothing. I was what, five? And you were eight. Nothing to see there, dear. It was just you and your little dangly thingy."  
  
"Hey! It wasn't a little… dangly thingy!"  
  
"Well it WAS. I'm just speaking the truth." I said a-matter-of-factly. Then, the mental image of Darien, gloriously naked, came rushing back into my head. I could feel heat slinking into my cheeks, revealing the falsity of my nonchalant act.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Darien asked suspiciously.  
  
"Uh. N-Nothing." I stuttered.  
  
Darien just looked at me skeptically. And before I knew it, he was dashing across the table and was tickling me furiously.  
  
"*Gasp* Darien! Stop!" I managed to choke out in between laughter.  
  
"Not until you tell me what you were thinking about!" he declared.  
  
"Never!"  
  
We were on the floor now, though I have no idea how we managed to get there. I began to tickle him too and we both cackled like wild hyenas. We were rolling around the floor for awhile, trying to get the upper hand, but alas, his sheer strength had me pinned down on the floor. I realized, just then, what a compromising position we were in. His knees were pressed on both sides of my thighs in a straddling position, while his fingers were like an army of ants, tickling every spot they touched. If someone were to walk in right now…  
  
Which reminded me.  
  
"Darien!" I said, out of breath. "Stop, I have to tell you something." My face must've appeared solemn, for he stopped his attack abruptly.  
  
"What?" He asked, breathing hard. He rolled off and lied down next to me. For a while, we didn't say anything since we were both trying to catch our breaths.  
  
"Your door was unlocked." I said while staring at his white ceiling.  
  
"So?"  
  
I turned to face him, lifting myself up with my elbow. "What do you mean so? Something could've happened to you. Even though you have a security guard at the front desk, you should still take precautions. ANYBODY could've walked in. You're just lucky it was me."  
  
Darien covered his eyes with his right arm tiredly. "Serena, New York isn't THAT horrible, quit being so paranoid. I just forgot to lock it this time, that's all."  
  
I just sighed, lied back down and stretched my arms out. One of them hit Darien in the stomach and he groaned, but didn't say anything.  
  
"Whatever. Just try to be more careful next time, okay?"  
  
"Yes, mother," he said sardonically. I slapped my arm on his stomach again, this time with more force. I was rewarded with a light curse from Darien- that should teach him to mock my concern.  
  
For a while, we just lied there next to each other, and I slowly found myself drifting off to sleep. But no, Darien had to disturb me.  
  
"Serena? Are you sleeping?"  
  
"What's it look like, asshole?" I muttered sarcastically.  
  
"I'm bored," he croaked out.  
  
"Good for you."  
  
Suddenly, he got up and I immediately missed the warmth that had been radiating next to me. That man was like a human radiator! The cold struck me like ice, and I wasn't so drowsy anymore. I got up as well and dusted myself off.  
  
"So, what do you want to do?"  
  
"Let's go see a movie!" he said enthusiastically.  
  
"I don't feel like going out. It's too hot."  
  
"If you'd let me finish, you'll find out that I meant let's see a movie here! I just bought the Lilo & Stitch DVD yesterday. I've been dying to see that movie since last summer."  
  
"Tsk." I grinned. "What would your friends say if they find out you like watching Disney animated movies?"  
  
He glared at me for a second, then smiled maliciously. "What would your friends say if they find out you have a mole the size of Texas on your ass?"  
  
My hand flew to said butt cheek. "How did you know that?"  
  
Darien grinned evilly. "I remembered just now. That whole bath incident came rushing back to me. I wonder why?" He said as he began to tap his forefinger on his chin as if he was in deep thought.  
  
I was rather embarrassed to say the least. How could he have remembered such a trivial thought? He was probably faking it when he said he didn't remember. Whatever, it didn't matter now; it was time to wage war!  
  
"My mole is NOT the size of Texas! And what about you! You and your underdeveloped penis."  
  
"What! My penis is NOT underdeveloped!"  
  
"It was when I saw it."  
  
"Well, obviously. I was only eight years old!"  
  
"Excuses, excuses." I said while shaking my head. What is up with men and the size of their penis? They get all bent out of shape if they found out you thought it was too small or something. Geez!   
  
"Whatever," Darien said, "This is ridiculous. Do you want to watch the movie or not?"  
  
"Okay!" I perked up. Lilo & Stitch is soooooo cute.  
  
I picked up the blanket from the floor where it was tossed carelessly aside, and snuggled up on the couch. Darien went into the kitchen to pop some popcorn and came back in the living room to put in the DVD.  
  
That was another thing that I noticed about guys. It seemed that no matter how tight on money they were, they always managed to purchase some fancy home entertainment system. Boys and their toys.  
  
Darien went back into the kitchen to get the popcorn while the movie was showing its opening credits. He walked in and gave me the bowl, then opened up the blanket that I had tightly wrapped around myself.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Shove over. I'm cold too." He lifted the blanket and spread it over our knees. We both sat with our legs folded against our bodies.  
  
"Duh. Why won't you turn the air conditioner down?"  
  
Darien shrugged. "Because I like it like this," he said simply. I froze for a moment until I realized what he meant.   
  
It might've seemed illogical, but I liked it too. Covering yourself in a blanket even thought it's practically one hundred degrees outside because you have the AC on too high, that is.  
  
The movie was starting and I looked on intently while munching on some highly saturated popcorn. I passed the bowl to Darien and he took it without taking his eyes of the screen. I smiled lazily. What a kid. Him and his Disney movies. It was rather adorable if you think about it, a grown man watching cartoons. Laughable, yes, but still extremely adorable.  
  
I began to feel lethargic again and felt myself nodding off a few times. Not to say that the movie was boring, but the warmth was just making me feel incredibly sleepy. I nodded off again, this time landing on something semi-comfortable. Probably his shoulder, I thought.  
  
I felt his gaze on me for a second before he turned his attention back to the movie. I chuckled a little. What a guy, I thought. What woman in her right mind could find it in her heart to use him?  
  
The last thoughts I had before I drowned into the sweet unconsciousness of sleep was how safe I felt, cuddled next to Darien. I couldn't think of any other place in the world where I could feel as safe as I did right now.  
  
  
  
Unless, of course, I was in a five feet thick titanium-walled bomb shelter.  
  
---  
  
woo~ finally, I got my lazy ass up to write another chapter. I think this will be the only chapter story that I actually intend on finishing any time soon (hopefully). Stay tuned folks! And remember! Feed the feedback bin! *cackles* -_-' I'm so gay.   
  
tennyo012@yahoo.com  
  
http://iamsleepy.org 


	4. four

Almost Perfect // 4  
  
-+Tennyo  
  
A scent that seemed vaguely familiar trickled into my nose and caused me to stir from a dreamless sleep. It smelled faintly of the summer rain that would come to relieve the summer's scorching heat. It was rather refreshing, really.  
  
I felt fingers gently pushing my hair away from my eyes and I felt oddly relaxed and calm. I slowly opened my eyes to see Darien looking at me. His midnight blue eyes held a tenderness that I rarely got a chance to see. I was moved to know that I was the recipient of it. A kind of peace settled over me, a sensation which I had never felt so strongly before until this day. It was the sort of feeling I got when my mother would tuck me into bed, like the whole world was at peace and nothing short of a nuclear bomb could disturb it, yet not quite.   
  
It was a different kind of peace, like an empty closet that had been long forgotten was being meticulously opened. There were no locks on the door, nor did it creak when it unfastened.  
  
"Awake now?" Darien asked softly.  
  
Beams of light from the morning sun shined through the cracks of the blue-tinted shades. It illuminated the room with the kind of brightness that you can only experience at the peak of dawn. That was when I saw Darien in a different light. A new perspective that I hadn't thought of before slowly seeped into my mind. I wondered, then, how long had I been feeling this? It felt strange, yet comforting.  
  
"Mmm," I muttered. I pulled the sheets up so that it reached the bottom of my nose. Morning breath can be a real stinker. My stomach grumbled quite audibly and I blushed in embarrassment. Gosh darn, I really needed to do something about that. It seems I could sleep for days without food, but the second I woke up, my body craved it.  
  
Darien smiled in amusement and got up. "Rise and shine! Today is the beginning of a new day!" He turned around as he was walking towards the door and grinned. "I'll go make some breakfast for you, you pig."  
  
Smart man that he was, he closed the door before the pillow struck him. That bastard, I thought mischievously, I'll get him back for that little remark.  
  
I slid out of bed and groggily stood up. I stood on my toes and lifted my arms above my head and stretched. I heard a few bones crack and made a note to myself to have a full stretching session later on. I opened the bedroom door and trudged into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror, rather, the creature that was reflecting in the mirror. My hair was in complete disarray and there was a white trail where my saliva had slid down.  
  
Great, just great, I thought sardonically. One of the most romantic moments of my life and I had looked like a hideous monster. It was quite amazing that Darien hadn't screamed and jumped out the window at the sight of me. That man has balls, I tell ya. I grinned at the peculiar remarks I was making. My brain didn't work quite well in the mornings, and it seemed to be one of those days where my brainage had been shorted out. Woo! Fantastic.  
  
I looked through the medicine cabinet for some mouthwash. The idea of using someone else's toothbrush is quite appalling, thank you very much. For those of you that have this ridiculous idea that it is romantic to share a toothbrush, I assure you it is not. How romantic is it to be sharing the instrument that brushes germs and food scraps out of another's mouth? Not very.  
  
I stepped out of the bathroom feeling as fresh as anyone who slept in their street clothes can be. The smell of eggs and bacon delightfully filled my senses. The classic American breakfast- it was good to be alive.  
  
I sat on the stool facing the kitchen where Darien was cooking. It never occurred to me how sexy it would be for a man to cook a woman breakfast, especially on a fine morning such as this one. He set a cup of hot, steaming coffee in front of me, complete with tons of cream and sugar, just the way I liked it. Can this morning get any better?  
  
I felt a grin growing on my face. I was full out smiling when Darien turned around in a great flourish with a plate of eggs and bacon. He paused in mid-turn and crooked his head to one side.  
  
"What's so funny?" he asked. He began to smile as well. Apparently, smiles were contagious. I began to laugh out loud as a thought occurred to me. Oh! How the world would be if smiling was the new epidemic!  
  
I broke out in bouts of laughter as Darien still stood there with a quirk of a smile and a confused look on his face. It was so deliriously funny to be sitting there, waiting to be served by a man who claimed he didn't know how to cook. For some reason, it was so absurdly hilarious that tears began rolling down my cheeks.  
  
Darien settled the plate in front of me and rushed to my side.  
  
"Serena, what's wrong?" he said with his face full of concern. And I felt angry, then. Felt angry at Margaret and all the women in this world who had dared to treat Darien like a toy that was meant to be used and discarded. Foolish women they were, for throwing away such a precious jewel.  
  
The bombardment of so many emotions had me in tears. I found myself cuddled in Darien's lap, with him whispering soothing words that I couldn't understand. I was sobbing until my body ached, and for the life of me, I could not figure out why. The tears had come, at first, in happiness. But now they had receded to sadness. It was as if I was crying for all the times that Darien hadn't cried, for all the times that he had hurt but didn't scream.  
  
Darien rocked me back and forth until my sobs subsided and I began to hiccup. That made me laugh again, and I felt a pain in my ribs. I had cried too much and laughed too little.  
  
I looked up at Darien and saw myriads of expressions on his face. It surprised me that I could see him with all his feelings out, so raw. The foremost expression that I saw on his face was confusion and then concern. I lifted my hand up to touch his face and trailed my fingers along the smooth line of his jaw. Was he always this beautiful? Or was it my newfound feelings for him that made him more attractive? I didn't know, nor did I care. Beautiful in reality or not, he was beautiful to me.  
  
It must've shown on my face, because Darien smiled at me warmly and I could see relief on his face. Relief from what?   
  
I opened my mouth to speak but Darien shushed me with his finger, as if he knew what I was going to say, but didn't want me to say it because it might spoil the moment. Dimly, in the back of my mind, I supposed that it would. For some reason, I had felt his pain and shed his tears. I did not want to know why he felt relieved. One emotional blast was enough for one day.  
  
I got out of Darien's lap and he got up and offered me a hand. In another time, another place, I would've refused his hand. But the look on his face told me that if I didn't depend on him, just this once, he would run back to his dark closet and shut the door on me forever.  
  
I gave him my hand and he lifted me up in one swift movement. I smiled crookedly and said, "My, my. Been lifting weights lately?"  
  
Darien grinned. "Maybe. And what of it?"  
  
I shook my head. "Nothing, nothing." I eyed the plate full of food that was beginning to cool and felt my stomach grumble again. Darien laughed and I looked to see sparkles in his eyes. Amazing. His smiles now made my knees weak.  
  
"Eat your food before it gets cold," he said, "I'm sure your stomach would agree with me." He led me to my stool and walked into the kitchen where another plate was waiting.  
  
"Seconds, maybe?"  
  
"No, you pig," he grinned, "These are for me! Besides, you haven't tried it out yet. You might not like it."  
  
I took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet aroma. "What smells good must taste good!" I declared. I laughed quietly and began to dig in.  
  
The room was silent, except for the sounds of clattering utensils and the humming of the air conditioner. Normally, I would enjoy the silence. But then I remember something.  
  
"Hey! What was I doing asleep in your bedroom?"  
  
Darien chuckled to himself in a manner that could only be perceived as male. It was one of those deep throated laughs they did when they were thinking about less than pure thoughts.  
  
I began to blush a little. "Answer me!"  
  
Darien laughed even louder, at my expense no doubt. "You make it sound like it was my fault."  
  
I crossed my arms and frowned. "Well it probably was." I glared at him, "What did you do?"  
  
Darien raised his hands in defense. "Hey! Don't blame this on me! You're the one that wouldn't let go!"  
  
"What!"  
  
"Yeah! You fell asleep during the movie and when it ended, I tried to wake you up, but you kept SNORING. So, being the super cool friend that I am, I brought you to my room where it would be more comfortable. I was even going to let you have the bed while I took the couch."  
  
I snorted. "Yeah, right."  
  
Darien held his hand up. "Wait, let me finish! So I carried you over to my bed, which is no easy feat I might add, but you wouldn't let go when I placed you on the bed."  
  
"What! No I didn't!"  
  
Darien smirked at me, "Yes you did." He rolled up his sleeve up to his shoulder and showed me scratch marks.  
  
My cheeks turned several shades of red before it settled on a burning pink. I never knew I was so… feisty.  
  
"Sorry," I mumbled.  
  
Darien smiled smugly.   
  
"So! What are you doing today?" I asked perkily, desperately trying to change the subject.  
  
Darien took the hint and glanced at his watch. "In about an hour, I have to leave for work." He froze for a second. "Oh! Which reminds me-"  
  
Darien looked to the side and started scratching his neck. He usually did that when he was nervous. Annoying habit it was. I've been trying to break it for years.  
  
I leaned forward in anticipation when he still didn't say anything.  
  
"What?" I asked, "It reminds you of what?"  
  
"Um…" He darted his eyes back and forth and was still scratching his neck.   
  
I batted his hand away from his poor neck and said, "What? Out with it!"  
  
He mumbled something incomprehensible.  
  
"Darien, please. Just say it before my back gets tired from leaning over."  
  
"Then don't lean over," he said.  
  
I glared at him and straightened my back. He took a deep breath and another, and another, until I grew impatient.  
  
"You're wasting air." I stated. "Last time I checked, we were in need of it."  
  
Darien glared at me and took another deep breath just for the hell of it. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled. He spread his fingers out flat on the table, another thing he did when he was about to say something important.  
  
"There is a charity ball tonight. Would you like to come with me?" He said the words carefully, as if he had been planning it beforehand and wanted to make sure it came out right. I laughed inwardly at his antics. You would think that such a popular man would be more suave.  
  
"My, my, aren't you a Prince Charming?" I snickered.  
  
His eyes narrowed, offended that I had made fun of his pitiful attempt. "I'll have you know, I've never asked a girl out before," he blurted out. The second he realized what he admitted, he blushed in embarrassment.  
  
I tried to contain my amusement, for I was drinking coffee, I really did. But before I knew it, I shot coffee out of my nose and dribbles of it were running down my chin.  
  
"Haha! YOU never asked a girl out?" I asked him incredulously.   
  
Darien looked down and if he was standing, he'd probably be digging the toes of his foot into the ground. "Shut up," he muttered.  
  
I went into the kitchen to grab a towel and wiped the coffee away. "What about prom? You went with Little Miss Save the Penguins club president." I looked at him in astonishment. "Don't tell me she asked YOU out?!"  
  
Darien nodded meekly.  
  
I sat back down in shock. "I can't believe it! She was the shyest girl in school." I reached across the table and slapped him on the shoulder. "Way to go Darien! We all thought she was going to become a nun or something. Wait a minute." I paused. "I thought you didn't want to go."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"So…?"  
  
"Well, it looked like she was going to cry if I said no. And besides, she wasn't that horribly bad looking. She was rather attractive, if I do say so myself."  
  
I nodded thoughtfully. "How could you tell behind that huge pair of glasses?"  
  
"She was wearing contacts on prom night."  
  
"But not when she asked you out."  
  
"No."  
  
I shook my head in disbelief. "You amaze me, Darien. Only you would do such a thing, to agree to go out with someone based on personality, not looks."  
  
"Well… I don't know about personality."  
  
"What! She was the nicest girl I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."  
  
"It's not that. She was just… I guess… a little bit too excited about penguins."  
  
"Oh. Well. I suppose she was. I mean, she did found the Save the Penguins club." I paused for a moment and pondered. "Though, I never heard of them needing to be saved."  
  
"Oh they need saving, alright. Trust me on that one."  
  
"Hm. Ok."  
  
So we sat there for a while, in one of Darien's famous silence moods. And I finished every last bit of the fantastic breakfast that he made, all but licking off the plate's surface. Heh heh. Some things we must keep to ourselves, eh?  
  
"When does this charity ball thing start?"  
  
Darien looked up from his plate that he was studying intently for quite some time now. "9 o'clock."  
  
"Good! I'll have time to shop then." I stood up and began clearing the table. I glanced at the watch that Lita had given me for Christmas. It was one of those SEIKO watches where you press a button and you can get the time, date, calculator, and other nifty things. It was fast, efficient, and best of all, cheap. Hurray for technology! It was good for something after all.  
  
"You're going to be late if you don't get dressed now." I said while I picked up his plate and began washing it in the sink.  
  
Darien stood up and put his arms around my shoulders. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and softly said, "Thank you."  
  
I stood there like that for a while, frozen. I distantly remembered hearing Darien leave and saying something about picking me up at eight.   
  
This was weird. Beyond weird. Darien and I are best friends. Best friends don't fall in love, do they?  
  
I just stood there for a while, absently wiping the dishes dry. Am I in love with Darien? No, no. It's too soon.  
  
But will I?  
  
The thought was scary, yet comforting at the same time. There were so many reasons not to fall in love, especially with Darien. What if things went wrong? What if he didn't feel the same way?   
  
But what if he did?  
  
My heart warmed at the thought. Love was really irrational that way. It didn't give a damn about all the doubts that you filled inside your head. It sure as hell didn't care about logic or reason. It pushed its way through all the barriers like a solitary soldier that refused to be defeated. At least, not without a good fight.  
  
I finally settled with an answer that I was willing to accept right now: all of these questions could only be answered through time. We'd just have to wait and see!  
  
With that decision, I finished cleaning up the dishes and picked up the phone. I had a dress to shop for! I dialed the local high school's number and punched in Mina's extension. Mina Davenport was my good friend and shopping buddy. She was a physical health instructor at the neighborhood high school. I had no idea why she enjoyed teaching sports so much, but then again, she didn't understand why anyone in their right mind would write for a living.  
  
I asked her if she had time to go shopping for a dress. When she asked what it was for, I told her and she all but screamed into the phone. She probably would have if it weren't for the fact that her colleagues would be more afraid of her than they already were. She tended to jump up and down and pound on things when she was too excited.  
  
After thirty minutes of reassuring Mina that it was just a date, nothing more, I hung up. Her last class of the day ended around one o'clock. So we would go shopping at two.  
  
I looked at my watch. I had four hours to go back to my apartment, shower, dress, and meet Mina at the mall. I picked my keys up from where I had left them yesterday on the coffee table and tried to smooth out my clothes. After two quick tries I gave up and locked the door behind me.  
  
In about eleven hours, I would be dancing with my best friend in the whole wide world.  
  
And I did not know how to dance.   
  
---  
  
hehe! I'm giggling! I'm giggling! I do not giggle. *coughs* Anyway! Thanks for reading! A little note about the penguins: I got the idea from my editor and friend, kari. Her story "Unlikely Friends" makes mention of that. Wee! Penguins are just the cutest things! *eh hem* yes.  
  
If I could, I would draw Pac man here and have arrows that point to it saying.. feed me! FEED ME with FEEDBACK!  
  
Ahaha! These get cornier and cornier with every chapter.  
  
Tennyo012@yahoo.com  
  
Stay tuned! 


	5. five

Almost Perfect // 5  
  
-+Tennyo  
  
Eight o' clock found me pacing around frantically in my room. The results of this afternoon's shopping trip were piled in a huge heap of clothes on my bed and I was on the edge of hysterics.  
  
Darien was going to be here any second and I still wasn't ready. I felt my eyebrows scrunch up and I clenched my fists. Breathe, Serena, breathe. Panicking wasn't going to help anyone. I started chanting that in my head and I felt my body relax and my nerves calm.  
  
I straightened out my hands and idly examined the beads of sweat that glittered in the light. It helped my thoughts slow down until I could think rationally again. Good. Rational was good.  
  
A lot of good that did me. The second I began to think sensibly about what I was going to wear, a knock resounded from the direction of the living room. It took several knocks for me to realize that I had to get up and open the door in order for the person to stop knocking.  
  
The fact that I was so out of it put me in a bad mood. I was scowling by the time I reached the door and flung it open to find Darien standing there in a black tuxedo, complete with a black bowtie. The tuxedo fit him snugly enough to know that he had it tailored. He looked magnificent! Splendid! Marvelous! And I… I looked like shit.  
  
"Hey." I muttered and left the door open and headed in the direction of the muddled cube that I called my room. Darien stayed in the doorway for a while, in shock, no doubt.  
  
"Serena. You're not dressed yet."  
  
"Yes, Darien. I can see that," I said bitterly, "Thank you for pointing out the obvious."  
  
"What are you getting mad at me for? You're the one that's not ready." He said defensively.  
  
I raised a palm faced out and he stopped. I felt so, so tired. The whole day consisted of nothing but thoughts of the new level that our relationship recently took. Our comfort level was as high as it could get, but there were lines that we never crossed. We knew it would just destroy that ease that we felt around each other. The simple peck on the cheek this morning reminded me that we had just crossed that line and there was no turning back. It was either move forward or let the whole thing crumble.  
  
I didn't want the latter and wasn't too sure about the former. I hated being caught in the middle. It aggravated every fiber of my being. I felt trapped like a rabbit caught in front of headlights. Not enough time to get away but enough time to know that you will be dead in a few seconds.   
  
These thoughts plagued my mind ever since the kiss. A kiss. Such a simple gesture. Friends do it, couples do it, old people do it, young people do it, and everybody does it. Everyone except me. I was never too fond of casual intimacy. The peck on the cheek was casual, but in an intimate sort of way. It was different coming from Darien, since he didn't believe in casual intimacy either. What did it mean? Was he just thanking me for agreeing to be his date, or did it indicate our newfound level of intimacy?   
  
I brought my left hand over the cheek where his lips had touched. It hovered there for a second too long and I felt my fingers tremble.  
  
Darien's intense gaze brought me back into the cool living room. He was still standing in the doorway. The hallway light illuminated his tall figure and his face was filled with shadows. We were several feet away, but I felt terribly close to him right then and there. His midnight blues were the only things that I could see and it was horribly penetrating, as if I were a ghost and he could see straight through me into the wall beyond.  
  
This was too much. Much too much too much. I shook my head and took several steps back until my back bumped into the wall. I clasped my hands behind me and felt the tiny indentations of the wall where the paint brush had stroked it with dove white paint. Walls were never really smooth, but it felt comforting just then. The solid feel of it along my fingertips were reassuring somehow. It made my world a little bit more solid than it had been a second ago.  
  
I felt warmth on my left hand and I realized that Darien was holding it gently in his hand, as if he was afraid it would break. He was standing in front of me. Not too close as to invade my personal space and destroy what little stability I had managed to gather, but close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body along mine.  
  
A fraction of an inch closer and I would lose all sense of self. This sort of closeness, and not just the physical one, was almost invasive.  
  
Darien must've realized that because he moved back a few inches and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Space. Space was good. It was very little of it, but still space nonetheless. It allowed me to gather myself.  
  
Before I knew what I was doing, I felt myself put on my mask. It was the mask that I always wore around strangers or distressing situations. It wasn't exactly another personality, more like a fake pleasantness that bore a polite smile on my face. It kept me sane, for it was like an armor that kept the unpleasant things out when I desperately needed it to and allowed me to feel safe on the inside. It was an empty face that enabled me to keep my cool while everything around me was going down the drain.  
  
This time, the battle was internal and I had no way of keeping out what was already in. But the cause of this inner struggle was standing right in front of me. That I could at least, help.  
  
The space between Darien's eyebrows crinkled and he frowned. He removed his hand away from mine and I let it drop beside me.  
  
"Serena. What's wrong?" The concern on his face almost stopped me from lying, but almost just wasn't enough sometimes.  
  
"Nothing," I said calmly. A flicker of anger passed through his eyes and I regretted having to hide from him.  
  
"Don't give me that, Serena. I know you. Don't say nothing's wrong because I have a nagging feeling that something is and that it concerns me."  
  
I glared at him. They should have a rule somewhere that says you aren't allowed to read people that well. I felt angry, frustrated, and most of all, scared. He knew me probably more than he knows himself and it was scary. Scary to know that someone had such an intimate knowledge of me and knew things that I didn't even know about myself.  
  
So I concentrated on the anger and let it override the other feelings. That's the rule of thumb: when everything else you're feeling will only make you feel worse, let anger take over and maybe you'll be alright in the end.  
  
"I don't need to explain myself to you." That sounded cold, even to me.  
  
"What?" He looked at me in disbelief.  
  
I looked down. Darien had every right to ask that question, especially if he was involved. Darien wasn't the enemy. I was. Me and my befuddled mind.  
  
I shook my head and half smiled.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
I pushed myself off the wall and quickly made my way into my room before he could say anything else and closed the door behind me. I looked at the clothes sprawled all over my bed and went over my choices. My eyes settled on the pearl colored dress that was smooth and cool to the touch. Its double spaghetti straps crisscrossed low in the back to reveal a huge expanse of skin. I trailed my fingers over the silky material and let the feel comfort me.  
  
I realized then, that I had already decided on the dress. I already knew what to wear, but I was just stalling for time. The courage I had this morning seemed to have escaped me and was nowhere to be found. The future is never certain and I was fine with the idea- until now.  
  
It bothered me to know that the only other constant in my life was no longer so constant. My family and friends was a continuous thing that I depended on. They were there when I needed them to be and vice versa. It would always be that way because that was as far as any of those relationships would ever go. But now, with Darien, I wasn't so sure.  
  
I relied on our friendship. It was one of the things I counted on when the rest of the world has gone amuck. Our relationship was always there for me to fall back on even after long periods of my absence or his. When he had a girlfriend, or when I had a boyfriend, we wouldn't see each other as much. But when one of us broke up, the other was always there to pick up the shambles.  
  
I sighed and began to take off my white tank top and orange jogging shorts. I was going around in circles. The only conclusion that I could come up with is that life was uncertain and unfair at times, and the only thing I could was to just deal with it. There was no going back and I had to settle for finding out as time went by, just like everybody else did.  
  
I frowned. What a disappointing conclusion. Well, whatever. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I've been thinking about it in circles all damn day and I wasn't any better off than when I first started. I was worse, in fact.  
  
I looked at the clock that sat on my bedside table. 8:30PM. If I didn't hurry, we were going to be late. This was a charity ball and Darien needed to be there for every second of it so that he could write an article on it.  
  
My brain was back. All I could say was:  
  
Don't fail me now.  
  
-+-  
  
We were driving out of my apartment's parking lot at 8:50PM. Yes, I had gotten dressed in twenty minutes. A record, even for me. Well, maybe not. I remember my junior and high school days when I used to make mad dashes every morning to try and get to class on time. I hated waking up. I never wanted to do it and my parents would rant and rave but I would pay no heed. They'd yell for me to wake up, come in and pull my blanket off, but I'd still roll over to one side and continue my peaceful slumber.  
  
It was a bad habit and adulthood hadn't changed that.  
  
I was sitting in the passenger seat of Darien's black Mustang. I didn't know what year it was, but it was old and it looked like in belonged in the '80's. Darien loved it, unfortunately, and he spent every penny he had to keep it in good condition.  
  
I didn't understand the point of that and I don't think I ever will. Men just seem to have this tendency to go nuts when it comes to cars, electronics, and other little gadgets they get obsessed with. I saw a car as a box on wheels that could get me to places. Sure some of them looked real pretty, but a car was a car. Just like a fork was a fork. Material things, really.  
  
Well, whatever the reason, I was sitting uncomfortably in it with my arms crossed. The leather seat made me hotter than I already was. The tension that hung in the air was like a suffocating thing and I was having trouble breathing.  
  
I rolled the window down, but was only struck with more heat. I looked at Darien. He was paying more attention than was necessary on the road and he stared at it like he was trying to pinpoint a speck of dust.  
  
"Can you turn on the AC?"  
  
He didn't even move. I didn't think he heard me. I opened my mouth to repeat the question but his right hand slowly moved from the steering wheel to turn the dial and just as slowly placed his hand back on the steering wheel. He didn't even glance in my direction.  
  
The tension seemed to heighten and clench in my throat so much that no amount of cold air was able to remedy it. I had to do something. I usually enjoyed the silence we had together, but this wasn't one of them. It was uncomfortable and it would continue to escalate if I didn't do something about it. I didn't think Darien would do it because he usually kept silent until the situation was tilting on disaster. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he would've made an exception in my case.  
  
Oh, well. Guess I would never find out.  
  
I chuckled nervously and tried my attempt to ease the tension. "So. Heh. Heh. This is supposed to be a date. A FIRST date. Where are the flowers?"  
  
Darien's hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The little comment was supposed to be funny, something that deserved a light chuckle at the very least. I didn't give a damn about getting flowers. Instead, the tension increased as he said through gritted teeth, "I didn't have time to get them."  
  
The way he said it made it sound like he was really disappointed that he was unable to get me flowers. Flowers are nice and all… but they eventually die. They should stay in the ground where they were alive and nice to look at.  
  
I touched his arm and he seemed to relax a little.  
  
"Darien, it's ok," I smiled, "I'm allergic to flowers anyway." He glanced at me and I was delighted to see a slow smile form on his face.  
  
"You are not. You're just saying that so I wouldn't feel bad."  
  
I laughed and looked at him mischievously. "Maybe. But you'll never know, now will you?"  
  
"I can always get you flowers later."  
  
"You don't know what kind I like."  
  
"Aha! Now I know you're not allergic to flowers. Otherwise, why would you have a preference for something that you couldn't be close enough to appreciate?"  
  
I scrunched up my nose and protested. "No! People can still like flowers even if they are allergic to it."  
  
"Maybe." He paused for a while and I thought it was the end of the conversation until he started again. "What kind of flower do you like then?"  
  
I shook my head. "Can't tell you."  
  
"Can't or won't?"  
  
I grinned. "Won't."  
  
He turned to look my direction and a smile crept up his face. I had never really thought about it, but I just realized that he had a nice smile. A real smile bears teeth and lightens up your face. The twinkle in his eyes added to that and it surprised me to know that I enjoyed looking at him smile like that.  
  
It made me smile at him too. Vaguely I realized that we were basically just gawking at each other like love-sick fools. But it was okay. It was only me and Darien in the car. Besides, it was dark and people couldn't see. Haha. Just kidding.  
  
A loud honk next to me brought me back to attention.  
  
"Darien! Watch out!"  
  
Darien quickly swerved back into the lane since it was veering off into the next one. We laughed nervously and rode in silence the rest of the way.  
  
---+  
  
The ball was held at the manor of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald. They were two elderly couples that host this event every year in order to raise money to… save the penguins.  
  
Okay. Haha. I'm really kidding this time! It's actually for cancer patients. The money that they acquire from this charity ball will go to the research of cancer so that maybe one day, there will be a cure or at least more effective treatments. It's actually a nice thing for them to do. Too often, there are those who are fortunate that neglect to help the less fortunate. This ball made me more hopeful about the human race.   
  
Maybe we all won't go to hell after all.  
  
The second we entered the hall, Darien went into full reporter mode. I've never seen him in action, so it was like watching a whole different person. The man I knew with the crooked smile seemed to vanish as a smooth, suave person stepped in. It was rather odd in a good sort of way, I think. This Darien was more confident of himself, surer of what he was doing. It amazed me every single time I saw the calculation behind his eyes as he stored the information in the correct place. He probably had the basic outline for his article.  
  
He was in his element, and it was astounding. I never really thought about it, but I think there are certain things that we were good at, that we were born for. And for Darien, this was it. He loved being a reporter and writing down his little facts. Knowing every detail was part of his personality and this career choice was perfect for him.  
  
And as fate would have it, it was not perfect for me. We spent the whole night walking around from person to person; Darien flashing his brilliant smiles when he found the information he was looking for, and me smiling until my teeth hurt.  
  
I was like a Barbie doll- with the capability of walking and a permanent smile. I didn't like it at all. Come to think of it, I don't really interact with people that much. Social recluse? Who, me?  
  
Well, whatever I was, I didn't like being dragged around from person to person until it was just a blur of smiling faces. Why was everyone smiling so damn much? You'd think they had their facial muscles taped up.  
  
This was not what I had in mind.  
  
When I thought of a ball, I thought Cinderella in her glass slippers dancing the night away with her Prince. I imagined a live band playing classical music as we mingled around and had intelligent conversations with sophisticated individuals.  
  
There was a live band alright, except you couldn't hear them over the noisy clatter of approximately five hundred people. Don't get me wrong, the manor was huge and it could easily fit my apartment at least eight times- and that was only the first floor- but it was suffocating to be in a room with so many people. The movement of bodies and the heat made me dizzy.   
  
I was NOT having a good time.  
  
"Darien." I said softly. I must've felt worse than I thought because apparently, I had just interrupted a very important conversation.  
  
The group of people we were currently interacting with stared at me and the abrupt silence around me was startling. There was still the buzzing of the crowd, but the immediate area was quiet.  
  
Great, just great. Did I just break a rich people law saying that we peons weren't allowed to interrupt unless we were bleeding to death? From the looks on their faces, it seemed like I did.  
  
Darien chuckled politely and said, "Will you please excuse us?" then dragged me off to the balcony on the second floor.  
  
The moment the breeze hit me, I felt instantly better. Calmer, no. But cooler, yes. The irritation of a wasted night was still clinging to me when Darien closed the French doors silently behind him.  
  
He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. It looked like he was about to blow up and I was so not in the mood to be the recipient of it.   
  
"What was that?" he said accusingly.  
  
"What was what?" I said defensively.  
  
"That."  
  
"That what?"  
  
Darien started making wild gestures with his hands and spouting out incomprehensible words. Finally, he blurted out, "THAT!"   
  
As if that explained it all.  
  
"WHAT!" This was getting on my nerves now. As far as I could tell, I did nothing wrong. In fact, he should be kissing my feet now for how considerate I've been all night. I hadn't said one word that might've embarrassed him, nor did I laugh in my usual manner.   
  
"The whole thing in there!"  
  
"WHAT whole thing?"  
  
"You! You with the whole…" he started moving his hands more frantically and I still had no idea what he was trying to say.  
  
"What, Darien. You have to make it a little clearer for me because I seem to be too stupid to understand."  
  
He stopped his meaningless gestures abruptly and stared at me.  
  
"Don't. Don't even go there. I didn't say you were stupid so don't start getting all defensive on me."  
  
"Well what do you expect me to say? I've allowed myself to be dragged around by you all night. My feet hurt like a bitch and my cheeks ache from smiling all night long," I said, "I think I deserve just a little bit of room to be annoyed."  
  
I even used my thumb and forefinger to show him just how much.  
  
Darien stopped to think about that for a while and raked his fingers through his hair again. It showed how stressed out he was and I suddenly felt like an ass for adding to it. I opened my mouth to apologize, not for complaining, but for being an ass about it, but he beat me to it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Serena. I shouldn't have dragged you into one of these overbearing events. I should've considered the fact that you hate being around people who gossip and care more about money and looks than they really do about cancer and charity."  
  
I sighed and felt my shoulders slump. Why did it always have to be like this? Apologizing for something that we couldn't really change.  
  
"It's ok, Darien. You couldn't have possibly known." There was an edge to my words that I hadn't really intended. But it was out and the damage was done.  
  
"What's THAT supposed to mean."  
  
"Nothing, Darien. I'm sorry I said anything."  
  
"No, no. You're going to tell me right now. I'm not going to let it go this time," he said, "I tried to be a gentleman before and let you get dressed so we can get here on time. But you're going to tell me what's been hovering over your head like a dark rain cloud."  
  
"Darien." I waved my hand in dismissal. "It's hard to explain."  
  
"Try me."  
  
"I can't. I don't have it completely figured it out myself."  
  
"Then just give me bits and pieces of it."  
  
"It's not that simple, Darien."  
  
"Of course not," he said skeptically. "It's never simple with you. You always have to blow things out of proportion. Everything always has to be like a cheesy soap opera."  
  
"What!" I shook my head in frustration. "No, Darien, no. You are NOT getting a fight out of me. I've already suffered enough this entire night. And that is all you're getting out of me. My participation and," I said, "My cooperation. That should be enough."  
  
"You're right," he said, "You're absolutely right. You have painstakingly walked around the ballroom this entire night and done so without much complaint. OH MY GOD, Serena. How can I EVER thank you?"  
  
"What is THAT supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means that I can't even ask you for one little favor without you bitching to me about it. You expect me to be there for you when you need me to be," he said, "But when are you?"  
  
"That's not fair, Darien. I am there for you just as you are for me. It's just I can't stand this type of atmosphere! I thought this was going to be a real date, Darien." I said, "Not just me as an obedient dog while you walked around conversing with people that you normally wouldn't give the time of day for. It is so obviously FAKE."  
  
"Excuse me? Fake. I'm fake. So now I'm the fake one," he said. "How can you say that when, just a few moments ago, you were smiling like your life depended on it?"  
  
"What did you want me to do Darien? Make polite small talk? Talk about the weather? About my life? My mother? Tell me because I haven't a clue."  
  
"Anything! Anything, Serena. Anything to make you not look like a stupid airhead. I know you aren't one, Serena, but those people don't. Do you want to give them that impression?"  
  
"What! What does it MATTER what they think! The fact is I don't know how to act around these people. If I act like myself, I'd be seen as a crazy nutcase. If I didn't, I wouldn't be true to myself. What do you want me to do, Darien? Moreover, what do you want me to be?"  
  
"Oh, I am SO sorry, Serena. Sorry that I've rained down on your royal parade. I guess acting like a civilized, conversational human being is too much to ask of you. What did you think this was going to be? Some great big night of cocktails, dancing, and fun?" he said sarcastically, "It's a charity ball Serena, not a scene straight out of a fairytale. Sometimes, I don't think you can tell the difference between the two."  
  
That hurt. It really did. I felt a sharp pang in my heart and my throat tightened. No way was I going to cry in front of him and have him feel sorry for me. I had to leave. Now.  
  
"I'm going home."  
  
"Serena…"  
  
"Don't say anything, Darien. I think you've said enough tonight."  
  
He looked hesitantly towards the doors where hundreds of people still waited to be briefly interviewed. "I'll take you home."  
  
"No." I said firmly. He opened his mouth to protest, but I said, "You have to stay here. It's your job." I crossed my arms and tried to hug myself. It seemed colder than it was scant moments ago and goosebumps ran along my arms.  
  
Darien took his jacket off and dropped it on my shoulders. I stood there for a brief second, taking in the warmth of his body that the jacket retained, and inhaled his scent.  
  
My heart ached when I did it and I closed my eyes to keep the tears in. I had to leave; otherwise I'd make more of a fool of myself than I already did.  
  
I held my head high and drew in the scent of the summer night. It helped me regain my composure, and when I opened my eyes again, they were tear-free.  
  
I looked at Darien straight in the eye, and for the first time, I saw fear and worry in his eyes.   
  
Over what?  
  
I didn't know. And right then and there, I didn't care enough to find out.  
  
"Goodbye." I said softly and shrugged his jacket off my shoulders and felt it drop at my feet.  
  
His eyes widened and he stared at the jacket as if a part of him had fallen off my shoulders. And I guess, in a way, it did.  
  
I flung the French doors opened, squared my shoulders, and steadily walked out. Vaguely, I wondered if he saw me leave and maybe regretted it. Or maybe he was still staring at the jacket.  
  
I did not know, nor did I look back to find out.  
  
---  
  
Feedback! :D tennyo012@yahoo.com  
  
sayonara~ 


	6. six

Almost Perfect // 6  
  
-+Tennyo  
  
It was raining again. It was the sort of rain where you had to look closely to notice the raindrops. The ripples that disturbed the smooth puddles on the dark pavement were better clues, but I was trying real hard to find the rain.  
  
I felt cold and empty as I sat there, hugging my knees against the sliding glass doors of my living room. I pressed a hand against the glass and watched it fog up. I took it off and saw it fade. It was almost instantaneous, in a gradual sort of way. Gradually fast, I should say.  
  
That seemed like an appropriate term.  
  
I scrunched my eyebrows and began to think it through logically. When in doubt, think with your brain and not with your heart. Gosh darn. I never thought I'd say that.   
  
Yesterday had begun with a series of mini arguments that led to the culminating event. The tension was still there, right beneath the surface, but it was ignored for obvious reasons. One, we didn't exactly want to confront it. And two, we were in a time constraint. Darien was, at least.  
  
So it had all fallen down that last time.  
  
Last time. Was that the last time? The last time we will ever fight? Or worse, the last time we will ever talk to each other?  
  
I didn't want it to be the last time, but yesterday's "goodbye" seemed awfully permanent.  
  
I frowned at the thought. I began to wonder if I had made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. But truthfully, I didn't really regret it. What's done is done, and I can't do anything to change it.  
  
I had spent the remainder of the night and this morning mulling over yesterday's incident. No matter how I cut it, Darien's words had hurt and might even hold a bit of truth in it. Maybe I had blinded myself with fairy dust. Maybe I had let my expectations get the best of me. Maybe I could've put more effort into making small talk with people I couldn't stand.  
  
No. That, I could not agree on. I refused to converse with people like that. It made the edges of my eyes tighten. It was really bad for two stubborn people to fight. You never know when one of them will relent, or if they every will.  
  
But Darien was right with at least one thing; I had let my imagination run away with me. I had expected so many things that were unrealistic. I had envisioned a night of ballroom dancing- even though I did not know how to dance. I had visualized a night of sophisticated chatter, and then refused to make small talk with the very people I wished to speak with.  
  
I was full of contradictions, so no wonder Darien got angry with me. But still, he shouldn't have said it. Well, maybe he should, but not in the manner in which he did. It hurt. The thought of it still made my throat tighten, but I swallowed it down. I've already cried enough. I would not allow myself cry anymore.  
  
I guess when two people knew each other as well as we did, we knew what would hurt the most. We know which part would cave in and which part would be easier to stab. It was one of the catches of having close relationships. Maybe that's why some people avoided them like the plague; they feared that they might become too vulnerable.  
  
Maybe I did over-dramatize things sometimes. The people there weren't really that bad. I mean, they took time out of their busy lives to attend the ball so that they can donate money to help people with cancer. It was unfair of me to just stick a stereotype on them.  
  
I don't know. I just don't know what to think anymore.  
  
I'm supposed to be the one with the imagination. It was how my mind worked. It was how I got through life day by day. It was a part of me. Just like facts was a part of him. If he got to live with it, then I got to live with it too. But it still wasn't that simple.  
  
I was a writer, a romance writer no less. If Darien couldn't accept that, then… I stopped. I didn't want to finish the thought. One thought would lead to the next and I wasn't sure I'd like the conclusion.  
  
Fantasizing was part of my career. If I stopped, then I wouldn't be even half as successful as I was now. If I didn't think the thoughts I did, then I wouldn't be able to weave the stories that I do.  
  
Even when I was little, I used to read Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and countless other fairytales until I had worn out the pages. I lived and breathed it. I remembered a time when I would stay in my room and imagine a whole world where there were frogs that turned into princes and princesses that needed to be kissed by a prince in order to be awakened.  
  
It was a part of me. And whether my expectations were realistic or not, I couldn't help but think them. I couldn't just throw away a piece of me which has been there for so long.   
  
I wanted Darien to be someone he was not, and he wanted me to be someone I was not.  
  
I smiled bitterly at the thought. He hated perfection but wanted it anyway. He strived for it everyday even though he detested it.   
  
Guess I wasn't the only one filled with contradictions.  
  
The banging on the door brought me out of my thoughts. Who could it be now? The banging persisted as I reached for the door knob.  
  
"All right, alright! Hold on already!"  
  
I opened the door, and who did I find? You guessed it. Darien.  
  
He was standing their in his telltale trench coat that was dripping from the rain. I guess it was a bit cooler outside now because of the coming storm.  
  
"What are you doing here?" was the first thing that came from my lips. It pained me to see him now, and I hunched in a little on myself.  
  
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he said coldly.  
  
I nodded dumbly and stepped out of the way. I closed the door behind him and watched as he surveyed the room. I wondered what he was thinking, looking at the spot where we were last night, where I made myself a stranger to him.  
  
I went up to him to take off his trench coat. His body froze for a second, and he finally relaxed and helped me peel his coat off his wet body. I went to my bedroom to grab a hanger from my closet and hung the dripping coat in my bathroom. When I went back, I brought a large towel with me.  
  
Darien nodded absently and dried himself off. He sat on the couch, and I didn't have it in me to protest. This was Darien and there was a feeling in my gut that told me this was it. This was the argument that would end it all.  
  
He cleared his throat and spoke. It sounded like he hadn't been talking for awhile. "Serena. Um… about last night."  
  
I held up my hand for him to stop. "It's all right. I completely understand."  
  
Darien shook his head and he looked intently at me in the eye. "No. I don't think you do."  
  
My blood ran cold when he said that. Didn't he come over here to apologize? From the looks of it, I was completely off on that assumption. "I don't understand what." I said, getting a little angry.  
  
Anger flashed in his eyes. "Serena, please. Not everything has to be an argument."  
  
I bit my lip and tried very hard to contain the growing anger. He was talking to me like I was a crazed woman that would irrationally strike out at anyone, like I had no control over myself and actually liked getting into disputes.   
  
Darien must've taken my silence as an urge for him to go on because he continued. "Listen, I did a lot of thinking last night."  
  
When I still didn't speak, he kept going. "I think we both jumped into things a little bit too quickly and you were expecting for me to be Prince Charming and I-"  
  
That's it. I couldn't take this anymore. "I! I was expecting YOU to be Prince Charming! You didn't do ANYTHING last night. Why did you bring me if you were just going to drag me around like a display case?"  
  
Darien tightened his fists and I saw his jaws tighten. Before he could say anything more, the phone rang.  
  
For a while, we glared at each other and let the silence strain while the phone continued ringing.  
  
"Aren't you going to pick it up?"  
  
I glared at him some more and picked up the phone right when it was about to stop ringing.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Serena. It's me, Evelyn."  
  
"Hey," I said dully, "Listen, can you-"  
  
"Serena! Have I got news for you! Guess what?"  
  
I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. "What?" I said. Evelyn was my agent. She's been with me since the beginning when I wasn't sure that my writing wasn't mere chicken scratch.  
  
"Paris," she whispered, as if that one word held the key to unlocking the secrets of the world. For a while, I didn't answer and I turned around to see Darien still glaring at me. He was still sitting, but his gaze wasn't any less intimidating.  
  
"Hello? Serena?" Evelyn asked, "Are you okay"   
  
I frowned and turned around. "Yeah, I'm fine." I thought back to what she had said, "Paris? You said Paris?"  
  
I said the last part loud enough for Darien to hear and I instantly regretted it.  
  
"Paris?" he shouted, each word filled with more accusation than the last, "Is that where you're going now? Have you already forgotten about our agreement? Are you going to run off to another fantasyland of yours? Are you that desperate to escape reality?"  
  
I clutched my phone tightly until my knuckles turned white. "Excuse me, Evelyn. Can I call you back?"  
  
"Serena? Are you sure you're all right? Is everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just need a few minutes okay?"  
  
"Sure, you know the number."  
  
We hung up and I turned around angrily. "What the hell was that! Couldn't you see that I was on the phone? What's biting your ass so hard anyway?"  
  
"You, Serena. You're biting my ass. Every time a guy tries to get close you, you run off into another world. You always cut them off when they start getting too close!"  
  
"I do NOT! You know nothing about the guys that I've been with!"  
  
"Oh, really? Who was the one that you came running to when you broke up with each and every one of them? Huh? Who was the one you complained to when you said such and such wasn't giving you enough? Who was it!"  
  
"YOU!" I screamed with all the fury that was contained in me. "OK? Is that what you wanted to hear? I came to YOU because I thought you would understand. I thought you would know what it would be like to get hurt. But I was wrong, you never understood. You were just there, nodding like you were actually listening, weren't you?"  
  
"You don't think I understood? You don't think I know the pain when someone realizes that you're not the one for them? I think I know that better than you, Serena. YOU were the one that always did the dumping."  
  
"What! I did not!"  
  
"Yes you did! Every single boyfriend, there was something wrong with him. Something wrong with his voice, something wrong with his taste. It was always SOMETHING! Even Seiya! One of the nicest guys I have ever known had some fault to him."  
  
"That wasn't the reason why we broken up! You weren't in the relationship! You wouldn't know!"  
  
"Oh I don't? Tell me then, Serena. Why did you break up with him?"  
  
"I don't need to tell you that!"  
  
"No, it's because you can't."  
  
"What about you, huh? The only reason you're the one that's always getting dumped is because you always wait for THEM to do the dirty work! Once you see that they're not the one for you, you stop calling them. YOU are the one that puts yourself in that position!"  
  
Darien looked at me incredulously like I had sprouted another head. "What! You are COMPLETELY wrong. That is NOT what happens and you know it!"  
  
When I couldn't think of anything else to say, he stood up and marched towards the bathroom. Once he was out of the room, I dialed Evelyn's number.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Evelyn?"  
  
"Yeah, Serena?"  
  
"I'm going to Paris."  
  
When I said that, I heard Darien's boots move. I think we stood there for a little while longer, staring at each other to make the move. One of us had to do something, fast! Otherwise it would all end. It all end here.  
  
But none of us moved, and when Darien slammed the door shut behind him, my heart left with him.  
  
"Serena? You still there?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm still here," my voice croaked out. The rage that had consumed everything was gone now. And all that was left was a bitter, lonely ache. I blinked my eyes rapidly as the tears threatened to fall out.  
  
Evelyn continued on, unaware of the despair that was settling in my heart. "Your trip to Paris has been finalized. We're sending you there for two months. Sort of as a vacation, but more of a way to get you to write your next book in a different setting." It seemed so weird for her to speak such normal words. It seemed like such a different world now, and the world that Evelyn lived in was far away and surreal.  
  
"Serena?" Evelyn asked, unsure if I was still on the line. "You need to breathe, honey. I can't send you to Paris if you're not alive." She paused to think about that for a minute. "Actually, I could. But I don't think you wrote that in your will. As a matter of fact, do you even have a will? You should write one up soon. In this day and age, who knows what will happen."  
  
I smiled crookedly. Screw this, I was going to Paris! I shoved all the emotional shit aside. The world would still move on without me. Besides, I could always deal with it later. Yeah, later sounded good. Now wasn't the time for it to get in the way of my dreams! I've been dreaming of going to Paris ever since I was old enough to figure out where it was on the map! I blinked the last of the tears away and took a deep breath. Later, I could deal with this later.  
  
Meanwhile, I played back what Evelyn had said in my mind and said the next as sarcastically as I could. "Gee, Evelyn. I wouldn't be too enthusiastic about me dying if I were you. Your income depends on it." I said, "Besides, my current will doesn't include you in it. Will you be able to find another writer even half as successful as I?"  
  
"Aw, Serena. That's too bad," she replied in an equally sardonic voice, "I included you in my will."  
  
"Really," I said, not believing she had a will drawn up either, "What do I get? A penny? A dime?" I gasped, "Perhaps… maybe… a nickel?"  
  
"No, honey," she said, her voice still dripping with enough sarcasm to form an Olympic-sized pool, "You get my finger delivered straight to your door." I can almost feel her smiling evilly over the phone. "Creepy isn't it?" Her voice became achingly sweet. "Wanna guess which finger it is?"  
  
"Ha. Ha." I laughed dryly. "Cut the bullcrap. Tell me more about the trip."  
  
"Oo! I'm getting scared! Serena half-cursed at me!"  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
She burst into laughter and there was nothing but irritating noise coming from the other end of the line.  
  
I checked my watch and realized she had been laughing nonstop for the past three minutes.  
  
Too long.  
  
I began tapping my foot and even put the receiver near it so she can hear it. Muha. Yes, grown-ups can be immature too.  
  
I cleared my throat loud enough that it'd hurt. Rather idiotic of me, but she didn't know that. "Are we done yet? I don't think the hyenas heard you in Africa. If they did, they'd be screaming in pain right now."  
  
The nasal-congested laughter complete with snorts ceased immediately.  
  
My jokes do that to people sometimes. I wonder why?  
  
"That was soo not funny."  
  
"Yes it was. Then why'd you stop laughing?"  
  
"I think you just answered your own question."  
  
"It grabbed your attention." I insisted.  
  
"Yes, because it was utterly, disturbingly, UNfunny."  
  
"Wow, I never knew you had such a wide range of vocabulary under your belt. Can I hear more?"  
  
"Ha. Ha," she laughed dryly. "Anyway, before I waste anymore of my precious time on the likes of you," she emphasized precious as if it should've been in bold letters.  
  
"What! You're time is precious? Please. What do you do all day? Let's not forget who employs whom. You live so nicely only because your salary is, I should say, a large percentage of my income."  
  
"Large? It's not LARGE! It's friggin' 10%! Lawyers get paid more than that."  
  
"Well, lawyers are lying, cheating, whores of law who defend anyone who pays them- at the right price."  
  
"Your brother is currently studying to be an attorney."  
  
"My point exactly."  
  
I heard her groan in frustration. "Whatever. I know you love your brother more than you will ever care to admit."  
  
"Ugh!" I exclaimed repulsively. "I do not!" I could almost feel her rolling her eyes and glancing at her watch. Yes, we do know each other that well.  
  
"Serena, can the bullshit, I have an important meeting to get to."  
  
"Yeah, right. More like an "important meeting" at the spa."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
I smirked. I won the battle for today. No need to tell her that though. She would only disagree. Tsk. She can be so uncompromising.  
  
"Anyway, tell me about the trip."  
  
"Ok, your tickets are reserved for next Tuesday. I can either get it mailed to your apartment or you can come by my house to pick it up. The company is paying for your stay at the hotel for the entire time that you're there, but they expect you to send something of your progress at least every other day."  
  
"Darn." I snapped my fingers. "I knew there was a catch. How will I send it every other day? Doesn't it take time? That means I can goof a little and they wouldn't know!"  
  
"Sweetie, there's a thing called email. Welcome to the twenty-first century, honey," she said as if she was breaking the news to a child who thought there were tooth fairies that put money under your bed in exchange for a dirty old tooth.   
  
Yeah, right.  
  
My smile and my hopes faltered right there and then. "What! This can't be considered even a semi-vacation if I'm going to be working all the time! I just finished a book! They can't do this to me!" This was an outrage! I still couldn't keep the grin from coming back to my face, but this was an outrage!  
  
"Calm down, Serena. They knew you'd react like this. So they said that two of those eight weeks is your actual vacation time."  
  
Oh. That sounded better. Two weeks of free time devoted to nothing but splendor! In Paris! Paris! The city of fashion, love, and romance.  
  
My right eye twitched. I so did not want to go there.  
  
Back to business.  
  
"Are those two weeks in the beginning, middle, or end of those eight weeks?"  
  
"In the beginning. You'd get all cranky if you didn't have a vacation in the beginning."  
  
"No I wouldn't!"  
  
"Yes you would."  
  
"No I wouldn't!"  
  
Evelyn cleared her throat. "Anyway. Let's at least try to pretend to behave like adults, shall we?" she said, "Like I said, I can either get the tickets delivered to you by Friday or you can pick them up tomorrow. Which is it?"  
  
"I'll pick them up tomorrow. Wait. What about the book now?"  
  
"Oh yeah, about that. They're holding off on publishing it. The schedule got kind of messed up."  
  
"What! They're the ones that told me to finish by June!"  
  
"Yeah well…"  
  
"Ugh, so I guess I won't be promoting it anytime soon right?"  
  
"Oh yeah you will, probably after your vacation. I still have to talk to them about it."  
  
"All right. Oh my gosh! I'm going to Paris! Thanks a lot Evelyn! Thank you sooo much!"  
  
"Ok. I get it, stop screaming in my ear. I gotta go."  
  
I giggled. I never giggle. Ok, hardly ever.  
  
"Ok, I'll let you go get your dirty toenails cleaned." I laughed at her expense and knew she was rolling her eyes again.  
  
"Bye! Thanks ag-"  
  
"Whatever." Click.  
  
And I was left giggling at the dial tone. Woo! Grumpy Evelyn! She needed some phone manners. Not that I could be the one to teach her.  
  
It didn't matter! I was going to Paris next week! Yay!  
  
I twirled around the living room until I fell dizzily onto the couch. I sighed in content and thought of all the things I was going to do once I got there.  
  
This was my dream come true! It was my ultimate dream vacation in the city of looove. I MUST tell somebody!  
  
I picked up the phone and was on the second ring when I remembered who I was calling.  
  
Darien.  
  
My heart was caught in my throat and I quickly hung up.  
  
Shit.  
  
I had forgotten. Forgotten that we were fighting. Forgotten that we were on the verge of not being friends anymore.   
  
I shook my head and felt the tears swelling up again. No. It was just one argument. One fight. Ok, maybe two. But it couldn't possibly be the means of ending a lifelong friendship?   
  
Could it?  
  
I felt like crap. One of the greatest news of my life and I couldn't tell my best friend in the whole wide world. It knocked the excitement out of me like a punch in the stomach and I was left frowning. Frowning at the timing.  
  
The perfect fucking timing.  
  
---  
  
Here it is kiddies! *grins* After a long break. I had part of this written awhile ago, but I was mulling over which direction to lead this chapter to. Hm. Still not sure, but… yeah. *shrugz*  
  
Note: I haven't the faintest idea how the writing world works. I don't know if your agent is the one that makes the trips or if it's the publishing company or some other company that decides how many pages to write. I really have no clue, so if it's wrong, please email me! Otherwise, this will be how it is in the land of… Beavertown! O_O Muha :D  
  
Feedback please! Constructive criticism is every better ;]  
  
Tennyo012@yahoo.com 


	7. seven

Almost Perfect // 7

 -+Tennyo

          "I can't believe you threw me a surprise party."

          "You're going to be away for two months Serena! That's a long no-Serena time."

          "Still, I'm not going away to the army or anything. This farewell party is uncalled for."

          "Oh, Serena. I know you hate surprises. But we _had to celebrate."_

          "Celebrate my leaving?"

          "Yep! Two whole months of being Serena-free. We _had_ to come up with an excuse to rejoice your long absence."

          "Am I that much of an annoyance?"

          "Nooo." Raye Stevenson reassured me.

          I smiled weakly.

          "More."

          I smacked her upside the head and grinned widely. "I know you'll miss me."

"Yep. Just as much as you'll miss me."

"Good, so I don't need to give you contact information then." A business card with my contact information appeared out of nowhere in between her fingers. Raye smiled and waved it in front of my face.

"Already got it."

My eyes bulged. "What! Where'd you get that?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" she widened her violet eyes innocently.

The look on her face knew I didn't.

"We're giving these out. As party favors, sort of."

"What! I don't know half the people at this party!"

"Don't worry, Serena, I don't think they'll waste money calling you on long distance. Tsk. Those long-distance plans sure are getting more expensive by the day!"

I gave her a disgusted look and she stuck her tongue out.

"You're disgustingly long tongue doesn't look too healthy to me. Have you been eating right? Brushing your teeth?"

Raye slipped her tongue back in and smiled. "Serena. I didn't know you had it in you. Here I thought you were just a witless writer who got lucky."

"You don't sell millions by getting lucky."

"Sure, honey," she patted me on the shoulder, "Keep adding those zeros to that one."

The coward walked away, tossing her long, dark hair dramatically behind her head before I could reply with a scathing remark.

I leaned back against the wall and idly examined my living room. I held a drink in my right hand, swishing it around. I didn't even know what it was. Somebody just handed it to me when my shock began to seep away after I walked into the door and found close to thirty people in my apartment. I had no idea how Raye managed to stuff so many people in so small a space.

I should've changed the lock, I thought bitterly. Raye Stevenson had been my roommate in college until she moved to the other side of town to live with her fiancé. We always thought she'd be the last to tie the knot, being how she had no patience for men and all, but surprise, surprise. Raye shocked us all by being the first to get married.

And now it was Mina's turn. 

I smiled as I saw Mina Goldberg-soon-to-be-Davenport laughing out loud, a drink in one hand and the other clutching her fiancé, Andrew Davenport. He was a tall, masculine blond who complimented Mina quite nicely. They've been together for two years now, and Andrew had only popped the question recently. He was in his third year as a med student, and it looked like he was going to go through with it, unlike me. I dropped out after the second year. No regrets.

I scanned the crowd and saw all the familiar faces. Some of them were just friends of friends, here to have a good time. But God, I felt happy and old at the same time. I looked at all the people I knew and felt a tug of regret. Have I spent enough time with them? Could I have been a better friend?

The truth is I never really bothered with friends. The few that I had were good enough for me. Mina and Raye, along with Lita Avery and Amy Cambrin were always there for me when I needed them, but I felt like I could've done more. I felt like I could've made more of an effort to be friendlier with these people. 

Instead, I was always content with living in my world. The world that I created for myself was always filled with new possibilities. It got to a point where I wouldn't leave my apartment for days at a time. I would just sit in my chair until my ass got numb, typing away on my keyboard. 

Eventually, Darien or one of the girls would come and drag me away. But I'd always put up a fight, I'll tell ya that. 

I looked through the multitude once more. It bothered me. I was annoyed at the fact that I knew so little people. All the people that I did know, I have been friends with since high school. I didn't bother to make any new friends after that. In fact, it had been a long time since I had met any new people. I frowned at the thought. Had I been so out of it? So buried in my world that I had completely dismissed reality? Was Darien right? Is going to Paris just another way for me to escape?

"If you frown any harder you're gonna leave a permanent mark."

I snapped out of my stupor at the sound of that familiar voice. My heart fluttered for a moment, hoping against all hope that it would be Darien. I cursed myself for thinking of such a silly notion. Darien wasn't here. I had checked the crowd four times to be sure of that.

A little bit disappointed, but smiling nonetheless, I looked up to find an old friend. 

"Seiya Reinhart!"

"Serena Bradford!" He laughed and bent down to give me a warm hug. "How have you been?"

"Great! Just great!" I pushed him back with both of my hands on his shoulders and gave him a good look. Seiya Reinhart was still his tall, gorgeous self. His black, silky hair was longer since the last time I saw it, but his grey eyes were still the same, shining with mischief. "I haven't seen you in such a long time!"

"Well," he chuckled slightly, "For a second there, you didn't seem too happy about it."

"Oh," I avoided his gaze and brushed imaginary lint off his shoulder, "I was just thinking. That's all."

He frowned slightly and I looked away. He guided my head back to face him with his thumb and forefinger on my chin. "Serena, what's wrong?"

I sighed, "Nothing, nothing."

"Come on Sere," he insisted, "It might've been awhile since we've last spoken, but I know you. Something's bothering you. What is it?"

I scrunched up my nose and looked down. Ugh. Why did my face have to be so readable? People that didn't even know me very well have told me that my face always had a myriad of emotions that could easily be deciphered.

Add that to the fact that Seiya and I had dated when I was in college, and I might as well be an open book to him. 

He looked at me with his brilliant grey eyes and I could almost see him figuring out half the story.

"Did you have a fight with somebody?"

I cringed and looked down at his shoes. They were nicely polished dress shoes that had a silver buckle in the center. Looked shiny. Looked expensive.

"—rena!" My head snapped up and I almost knocked Seiya in the nose. He looked at me and I realized that he had been saying my name for a long time.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"Come on," he said, "Tell Uncle Seiya what's wrong."

I wished he hadn't said that. Wished he hadn't had that look in his eyes. It made my chest hurt and I felt the back of my eyes being pushed by tears.

I half smiled at him. God, I missed him. We had nice times in college. Too bad we broke up. Too bad I wasn't satisfied. Too bad I was never satisfied with what I had. 

He was the reason I had become a writer. We were dating pretty seriously while I was still in med school. He was studying to become a lawyer and it looked like he would be very successful doing it too. We were dating for two years and it _looked like I would be spending the rest of my life with him. The tingling excitement of a new love was gone by then, and I remembered I had thought about marriage and wasn't too thrilled with the idea. But I was comfortable with it. I mean, how much better could it possibly get?_

That sounded very nice in my head, but when he proposed, the idea wasn't so terrific. I was horrified. Was he the last person I was going to be with? 

Was this it? 

I remembered the look on his face when he realized I wasn't going to say yes. I had felt horrible about it. I mean, why couldn't I bring myself to say yes? Seiya and I were practically attached at the hips. We knew each other that well.

But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I felt that something… something could be better. I know, I know. It was rather bitchy of me to not be satisfied with a terrific guy like Seiya. But the thought of staying with him for the rest of my life just felt wrong. So I had left him and med school, just so I could chase my dreams.

I looked up at him. He was looking at me with patience in his eyes. I loved that patience. I remembered how we would just stay next to each other for hours at a time without speaking. It was… indescribable. I felt guilty then. Felt guilty and maybe a little regretful for ditching him. Why could I never be satisfied?

I felt a smile forming on my face. And I smiled, really smiled, showing him what I was feeling. He smiled back and brushed a strand of hair away from my face.

"Are you ready to tell me now?"

I smiled appreciatively and nodded.

---+

We moved to sit on my couch and I told him everything. From the agreement, to the overnight stay, to the ball, and finally, to the arguments. He listened carefully to everything and didn't speak until I finally finished.

"Whew," he whistled, "That was quite a mouthful."

I glared at him.  
          He cleared his throat. "Well, let me begin with this: how did you end up sleeping in his bed?"

I looked down and blushed. I shouldn't be blushing really, since nothing happened. But still, it was rather embarrassing. "I fell asleep when we were watching Lilo & Stitch and supposedly, I refused to let him go in my sleep."

"Aww… that's so sweet!" he gasped mockingly, "Lilo & Stitch! How could you! That is _only_ the best Disney movie ever made!"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I don't know." I looked up at the ceiling dreamily. "When I was with Darien, I felt so safe and secure, like the harshness of the world would be held at bay, if only I stayed close enough to him."

Seiya smiled at me softly. I remembered that expression. I had memorized it the first time he looked at me like that. It touched a part of me that I thought was long gone. I smiled back at him. No matter what we were to each other or no matter how long we were apart, Seiya would always hold a special place in my heart.

I let that thought fill my face, my eyes. I think Seiya had the same look too, and I was glad. Before I could relish in that nice, warm, secure feeling, however, he had a mischievous grin on his face.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"You keep lookin' at me like that doll face, and I'll havta leave Katie."

          I snickered and smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "Don't kid yourself, stud. I don't mingle with used items."

          He gasped dramatically and put his hand over his heart. "That hurts, sweetheart, that hurts."

           We burst out laughing at each other's antics. He could be such a schmuck sometimes.

          When we finally calmed down, Seiya had a serious expression on his face.

          "What?" I said warily.

          He frowned and had that look on his face that meant he was in deep thought. I snapped my fingers in front of his face and he glared at me.

          "Well, I was thinking. This thing between you and Darien," he waved his forefinger sideways as if to indicate what the "thing" was. "You guys have always been close, right?"

          "Yeah."

          "I just remember thinking that you guys were such an odd match. I mean, when you and I were dating, you still hung out with him and stuff."

          I opened my mouth to protest but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

          "I didn't mind. I knew you guys were pretty close even before we met. It's just," he paused, "I never really understood you two. For two people who seemed to be complete opposites, you guys sure got along pretty well. The truth is, as much as I hated to have admitted it; he was always able to calm you down. I mean, I would try to help you as much as I could, but it never got through to you. You always went to him when you had a huge problem that I was unable to figure out."

          He looked down, as if disappointed with himself. I gently nudged his chin upwards, mirroring what he had done to me earlier, and urged him to continue. He smiled and gently took my hand away.

          "He was your balance, as you were his. You pulled him in when his reality got too cold. He kept your head from floating up too high when you let your fantasy consume you," he smiled sadly and brushed the strand of hair that kept falling down. "That- I could never give you."

          I felt my eyes soften. I could've fallen in love with this guy. I could've been spending the rest of my life with him right now, but I wasn't. Well, it was as they say, no use crying over spilled milk.

          "You did more than what most people would do, Seiya," I said, "And I thank you for that."

          He smiled with relief in his eyes. "You're very welcome, munchkin."

          "Ugh," I rolled my eyes, "What's with you and calling women by delicacies?"

          He gave an exaggerated shrug, "What can I say cupcake? I find women to be very sweet."

          I groaned. "Oh, please. You're making me sick here." I laughed at the puppyface he was giving me. "Anyways, how's Katie? I haven't seen her since the wedding."

          "Oh, she's doing fine. Just got promoted to manager."

          "Oh? Where does she work?"

          "Victoria's Secret," he smiled mischievously.

          Knowledge dawned on my face and laughed in shock. "Oh my gosh! Don't tell me that that's where you guys met!"

          He nodded with a sly look on his face.

          "What in the world were you doing at Victoria's Secret?"

          "A man doesn't kiss and tell, sugar."

          I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right. You were probably shopping for underwear there. I remember you had a thing for panties."

          "What!" His eyes bulged out, "I do-did not!"

          "Oh, yeah? Then why were you always rummaging through my underwear drawer?"

          He darted his eyes to the right and I knew whatever he was going to say was going to be a lie. A semester in human psychology taught me that. For a lawyer, he was actually very honest.

          "I… I uh, was looking for… uh, your uh…chocolate stash." He smiled in triumph for his… brilliant thinking.

          I gave him a flat look. "Yeah, right. I never put my chocolate stash in the underwear drawer!"

          "Well how would I know that? So, I had to look."

          "Mm hmm, surrre." I gave him a skeptical look and arched my left eyebrow so high that he burst out laughing.

          "Noo!" he said in fake horror, "The eyebrow raise!"

          I smacked him on the head with a pillow and we laughed until our ribs began to hurt.

          "Serena!" Raye said in a mock-disapproving tone. "You're hitting on a married man!" 

          I continued laughing. "So? You do, too."

          Raye rolled her eyes. "That's because I'm actually _married to_ him."

          "Oh Raye, always sweating the technicalities," I said, "Besides, Seiya and I were just… reminiscing."

          "Well, reminisce some other time. The guests are leaving."

          I looked around, and sure enough, people were beginning to gather their purses and light jackets and heading towards the door.

          "Oh! Wow. What time is it?"

          Raye gave me a funny look. "Sheesh. Don't you ever pay attention to the time? Why do you have a watch for anyways? So it could look pretty on your wrist?" Raye gave my watch a second glance, "Then again, it's not that pretty. Where did you get that watch anyway?"

          I ignored her and asked Seiya what the time was.

          "It's 1AM, Serena." He chuckled lightly, "Though I must agree with Raye. Why do you have a watch on if you never look at it?"

          I shrugged. "It's there so I _could_ look at it when I need to."

          "Then… why won't you look at it now?"

          "Asking you is so much easier."

          "… Right."

          Seiya and Raye exchanged a look and laughed out loud, at my expense. Some friends they are.

          "Anyway," Seiya said, "I'd better leave. You need rest to get ready for your flight tomorrow."

          I stood up with him and gave him a fierce hug. "Don't forget to keep in touch."

          He hugged me back and said, "I won't."

          I walked him towards the door where everyone was waiting to say goodbye.

          I hugged every single person as they were leaving my apartment. It felt weird, saying goodbye. I was only going to be gone for two months. The heavy feeling in my heart felt like it was going to be a lot longer than that.

          I looked at Mina and Andrew together, holding hands. They were positively glowing and I was truly happy for them.

          "Bye, guys." I said, "Don't forget to call me about the details for the wedding." 

Andrew winked at me and said, "Don't worry, Serena. We won't leave you out."

I looked at Amy and Lita who had a gift bag in their hands.

I raised my eyebrows and asked, "What's this?"

"Essentials," Amy said, "that I'm sure you'll need but forget to pack."

They handed me the bag and I looked inside to find disposable underwear along with shaving cream, a razor, not to mention pads.

I chuckled. "Uh… Thanks guys."

We all laughed and I hugged them all goodbye.

My dad came next.

          "Bye, Dad." I said and hugged him. Raye had invited my parents too, though I couldn't imagine what they had done this entire time.

          He hugged me back, "Bye, sweetheart. Have a great time in Paris and be careful, okay?"

          I nodded and felt tears swelling up behind my eyes. This was so weird. I was going to be back in no time. What was I getting all teary eyed about?

          I looked at the woman next to my dad- the woman that had raised me and gave everything so that I'd be where I am today. "Bye, Mum." I said and felt my throat begin to tighten.

          "Bye, cupcake," she said with tears filling her eyes, "Have a great time and don't hesitate to contact us if you need help, alright?" She tucked the strand of hair that kept falling to my eyes behind my ear. 

Gosh, if they didn't leave soon I was going to start bawling. 

Finally, Raye was the last to leave. She had been cleaning up while I was saying farewell to everyone.

She gave me a hug and I hugged her back with just as much force. The tears were really starting to build up.

"Thanks," I said, "Thanks for the great party."

She smiled and ruffled my head.

"Hey!"

"What are friends for?"

We hugged each other again and I looked at the room to see everything in its original place. 

"Wow," I said, "You cleaned up good. Wanna be my cleaning lady?"

She shook her head and laughed. "I wouldn't be your cleaning lady even if you paid me."

"Ah, well." I smiled whimsically, "It was just a thought."

She pushed me back with her arms on my shoulders and studied my face. As if reading my thoughts, she said, "Listen, if you and Darien don't work it out, then I'd say the future of other less complicated relationships are pretty bleak."

I thought about that and smiled. I had told Raye everything last week when I first found out about going to Paris.

Raye patted my shoulder and walked towards the door. "Don't worry about it," she said, "You're going to Paris! You should be happy!"

I smiled and patted her on the back. "Thanks Raye, you really are a pal."

"Of course I am," she said confidently, "I know no other way."

I grinned and closed the door behind her.

"God," I whispered, "Thank you for giving me such great friends."

With that, I smiled and began to get ready for bed.

When I went to sleep that night, I had one last thought in my head:

Tomorrow's going to be a new day.

---

Voila! Another rewrite, though not with that many changes, just a few editing here and there. Anyway! Tell me what you guys think! Thanks for all the lovely reviews. They keep me going ;]

Tata!~ Thanks for reading!


	8. eight

Almost Perfect // 8

 -+Tennyo

          Just because today is a new day doesn't mean that it's going to be any better than yesterday.

          I had gotten up late this morning and realized I hadn't finished packing. I had scrambled around my apartment, trying to get everything together. Trying, ladies and gentlemen, is the key word.

          I had forgotten to eat, forgotten my coffee, and almost forgot my passport too. God, I could be such a scatterbrain sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

          So here I am, running like a maniac into the airport with only minutes to spare before my flight departure.

          I seriously needed a new alarm clock, or maybe a new brain. Yeah, that could work.

          "-your laptop ma'am."

          The security guard at the metal detector was staring at me. It made me wonder how many times he had asked to look at my laptop.

          I handed my precious laptop over and went through the metal detector. And lookee here! I was almost astonished to see that it didn't beep. The way things were going, I wouldn't be surprised if they asked me strip because they suspected I was carrying cocaine up my ass. 

I _do_ look a little stoned in the morning, especially without my coffee.

          The security guard fumbled through my laptop case and I frowned in protest. I would've made a remark about handling the equipment more carefully, but what good would that do? As all New Yorkers are famous for, the flat look would be masterfully given and he would continue to carelessly throw my things around.

          So I bit my tongue, which is a rarity in itself.

          Finally, he was done and shooed me away. I gathered my luggage and walked towards the gates. Before I did that, I couldn't resist the urge to turn back. Maybe Darien would be there. Maybe it would be like in the movies, and he would come dashing through the airport, chest heaving and screaming my name.

          But he didn't. So I left.

---+

          Seven hours and ten minutes later, I was walking in the Charles de Gaulle airport. My hair, I'm sure, was in complete disarray, not just form the long flight, but from the struggle it took to pick up my luggage. Gosh darn, who'da thunk it'd be so dangerous when you put lots of luggage and dead beat people together, chaos would ensue? If I wasn't so tired, I'd find it amusing.

          I scanned the crowd of people waiting to pick up their loved ones. Trouble was I didn't have a loved one in Paris.

          I cringed at the thought. I was here to write another romance novel, not become a character in it! …Though it _would_ be appealing, but I digress.

          My breath caught when eyes finally landed on him.

          Very dramatic isn't it?

          No it wasn't _him_, him. It was my tour guide, or so Evelyn had said.

          He was standing on his toes, trying to search for me above the crowd. He held a paper with my name in his hands like a banner and I waved to him, or tried to at least. It was hard to really wave when your hands are weighed down by twenty pound suitcases.

          His eyes brightened when he saw me and it made me smile for some reason. His eyes were a beautiful, crystal green, like emeralds. He seemed so unreserved in his manner, like he would take the world head-on without a second thought.

          He reached me in record time, and was already bending down to take my luggage in his hands.

          I smiled graciously but stepped out of his reach.

          "No thanks," I said, "I can handle it."

          He seemed to study me for a moment, as if he was recalculating his opinions, readjusting his assumptions.

          "You must be… Serena, no?" he said in what could only be a French accent. It was delightful, really. He had those voices that women would swoon over, even if they didn't understand a word of what he was saying. Husky, maybe.

          "Yes, I am." I put down the bag I was carrying on my right hand and stuck my hand out. "And you are…?"

          His smooth hand engulfed mine with gentle warmth. "Michel," he said, "Michel Bouvier." His hand lingered a little longer than was necessary, but I let it go. I mean, for all I knew, the French could be a little friendlier than us rugged Americans.

          "Good," I said, "Now that we've established that you are not a stalker, what hotel am I staying in?"

          He looked at me quizzically. "Hotel? What hotel?"

          "Uh, the hotel that I'm registered in?"

          He smiled broadly and his eyes glittered in amusement, like he was laughing at a joke that I didn't get.

          "Your agent… Evelyn," he said, "She did not tell you?"

          I looked at him sideways. "Tell me what?"

          "That you are living with me."

          My eyes bulged. "What!"

          "Yes," he said, "Something about not being able to afford a stay at a hotel for two months.

          I shook my head vigorously. "No, no, no. There must be some mistake. I have more than enough funds to pay for a two month's stay."

          He shrugged. "It was what your agent told me."

          My eyes narrowed. Evelyn. That evil, manipulative… psycho! She set this up! Oh my gosh, when I get my hands on her…

          While I was thinking revengeful thoughts, Michel had picked up the bag I had dropped. He was walking away toward the exits, leaving me with a very nice view of his a-uh… rear-end.

          A burst of laughter sounded from my throat. Really, Serena, just because you haven't had sex in…quite a while, doesn't mean you should be checking out everything male that moves.

          Michel turned around with a confident smile on his face. Only when he stopped did I realize that he was deliberately drawing attention to his behind. He had been swerving his hips like he knew what he was doing, making sure I had the best view.

          I laughed in astonishment. It made me wonder what his true occupation was.

          "What are you trying to do?" I said accusingly.

          He smiled coyly. "Why, to seduce you of course," he said. As if it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

          I narrowed my eyes. "What... are you?"

          "I'm a male being of the human species."

          I chuckled, "Yes, I can see that." I can see that very well.

          My thoughts were leading me everywhere but good, causing a blush to creep my face. I needed to start wearing makeup. Foundation or something should be able to draw less attention to the heat that was crawling on my cheeks.

          He raised his hand to my face, as if to touch the flame. I playfully swatted his hand away and he appeared to have come out of a trance. He blinked for a moment and shook his head.

          "Uh…sorry," he muttered.

          I was surprised at the change. One minute he was playful, seductive Michel, and the next he seemed like a wounded puppy. The change was unsettling. I felt a slight ache, missing his playful self already. 

I shook my head. Playful? Wounded puppy? I think not. It was time to get my head out of the clouds and face the immediate problem. In the back of my mind, I realized it was something Darien would say and do, but let's not delve into that too much.

          "If you could just point me to the nearest pay phone, I'll be out of your hair in two shakes."

          "Two shakes?" he asked, the mirth already back in his face.

          "Very quickly," I said. Never mind the feeling that I might miss this charming fellow, I needed to get to a hotel. 

See. I did have the capability of being efficient.

He shook his head. "No, no. I must insist you stay with me," he said, "It is part of the agreement."

"Agreement?" I asked, "What agreement?"

He looked down and smiled, as if he was afraid that I might see what was in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can not say."

"Well, if you can't say, and I don't know, then I think the agreement, which concerns me, is null and void." I turned around to march towards the payphones near the exit, but Michel stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

"Please," he said, "At least use the phone at my house. The long-distance plan that I never use would be cheaper. Besides, you do not have a phone card."

I eyed his hand on my wrist then looked back towards the payphones. Sure enough, it had no slot to deposit coins. Never mind the fact that I hadn't exchanged my money yet, there wouldn't have been a slot to put it in anyway! Humph. The only slot was a slim opening for what Michel had said: a phone card.

"Well, I'm sure you have a phone card on you don't you?"

He smiled and showed the cell phone I hadn't noticed before. "See? I am not trying to fool you. The cell phone plan I have does not have long distance."

I groaned and looked around the spacious airport. There had to be a way out.

However, it turned out that my luck wasn't really with me today, because the currency exchange booth was closed and so were all the newsstands that sold phone cards.

"ARGH!" I let out a frustrated groan. "Okay, fine. Take me to your house," I looked at him square in the eye, which wasn't that hard since he wasn't that much taller than I was, and poked him in the chest. "But just know, I am out of there once I make the call. _Capisce_?"

He smiled, triumph showed all over his handsome face, and wrapped his hand around my finger and pulled it aside. "_Capisce_, _mon chat d'or_, is Italian. Here, you are in France, and should speak French."

I glared at him and pulled my finger from his grasp. "What the hell is mon-chat-door whatever, and if you haven't noticed, I'm an AMERICAN in France and therefore, should speak English."

His grin spread even wider. Glad _one_ of us found this amusing. "Ah, speak it all you like, _mon chat d'or_, but no one will understand you."

"Oh yeah?" I pointed out the signs with a sweep of my hand. "Then why are there English words written all over the place?"

"Ah, that is only true for the airport and the hotels. If you truly want to capture the essence of France, then you must go where regular tourists seldom get a chance to go."

"And, I suppose, you would be the one to show me." I said with a hand on my hip.

He nodded in satisfaction, as if he had just taught a difficult lesson to an uncomprehending child. "Yes, yes. You finally understand. I will be your tour guide, and tour guides, such as myself, cannot stay in hotels."

"Why the hell not?" I asked exasperatedly.

"Because, as I said before, you cannot afford it," I opened my mouth to protest but he stopped me with a finger on lips. I jerked my head away and glared at him. All of this seemed horribly amusing to him, so he just continued on. "Before you protest, _mon chat d'or_, you forget that you will also have to pay for my room as well. Certainly, we cannot stay in the same room," he paused, "Can we?"

The blush that was fading away came flying back as I looked at the implications he didn't need to word out but were extremely clear in his eyes. "No, we can not."

"Ah, so it is settled then," he picked up the other bag that I had dropped in the middle of the confusion and started walking towards the revolving doors.

I burned a hole through his back with my death glare. Surely they will come up with some kind of gadget that will enable us to do that in the very near future?

I clung onto my carry-on bag tightly and followed him. "I'm still going to call Evelyn." I said stubbornly.

He replied without turning around, still walking like he had perfected such an art. "Call her all you want, I need to talk to her anyway."

I gave a resigned humph, knowing defeated when I saw it. All the same, I still enjoyed the view of his back. Maybe I should ask him to teach him how to walk like that? It would sure solve my… dilemma.

---+

          Three hours and two toilet stops later, we approached a building surrounded by luscious green hills and trees. A quarter ways through the ride, I had accused him of kidnapping me and selling me as a sex slave, but he merely laughed and told me to wait and be patient. So I sulked through the whole ride, something I was getting very good at, and enjoyed the view of the country side.

          Of course, there were very few people up at this hour, but the place still gave me a feeling of peace and welcome. I stepped out of the car and stretched, taking a deep breath of air as I did so. The air was so brisk and fresh, untainted by the smoke of city life. Sure I was used to Manhattan, but I was a country girl at heart. I was born in the country side where people still farmed and cows still grazed the grass. I used to dread that place, but coming here, I realized with a deep ache, that I missed the purity of the land.

          An hour of silence was unbearable to me, let alone three. So I had to fill up the silence that seemed to pervade itself so often in the car. I supposed Michel was the type of guy that enjoyed long, quiet car rides, but I didn't. The first hour was strained with an uncomfortable silence as I tried to make conversation. Either I wasn't a very good conversationalist, or Michel just wasn't much of a talker.

          Fortunately, my winning personality broke the ice and we were chatting like old pals by the time the car stopped in front of a building.

          "Is this your place?" I pointed towards the structure that I couldn't quite describe due to the lack of light. I realized with a shock that this town didn't really have street lights, only the soft glow behind closed drapes and the soft moonlight illuminated the houses.

          "Yes," he said while moving towards the opened trunk to take out my bags, "It used to belong to my parents."

          I strolled towards him; feeling invigorated and grabbed one of the bags. "Used to?" I asked without thinking, "What happened to them?"

          He froze for a solid minute and I felt, more than saw, his whole body change. "They are dead."

          "Oh," I managed to utter, "I'm sorry…"

          Michel continued marching towards the door, his back stiff without that playful, seductive stride of his. I caught up with him and gently placed my hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the bulge of his arm.

          "Michel, what's wrong?" I asked. It bothered me how much I cared about him already. Sure we bonded a little during the long car ride, but I felt oddly close to him. A bond that should've taken years to forge had been made in only a few scant hours. It threw me off, but for once, I was throwing caution into the wind and going with my gut.

          Michel looked ready to punch a wall, but as soon as he saw the look on my face, the muscles in his jaws loosened and a wondrous look passed over his face. He smiled at me, as if he were crying and laughing for the both of us. "It is a matter that I do not wish to discuss."

          I nodded and dropped my hand. Unlike with Darien, I let it go. Michel was still a stranger, no matter how close we had gotten. I didn't really expect him to spill his life's secrets now, did I?

          Once we got inside, he showed me where my room was and asked if I was hungry. I said yes and asked him where the phone was. He pointed to a phone sitting atop a small table with newspapers and magazines stacked underneath, and then he went to the kitchen.

          I dialed Evelyn's phone from memory and waited for several minutes before I heard her groggy voice over the phone.

          "Hullo?" she drawled out.

          "Evelyn! Wake up!"

          "Who is this?"

          "Serena, you numb nut!"

          "Whhaatt?"

          "It's SERENA," I screamed over the phone, "YOUR ONLY SOURCE OF INCOME!"

          "Serena!" I heard the creaking of bed springs on the other end. "Do you know what time it is?"

          I rolled my eyes. Why do people always ask this? Does it really make a difference whether I knew the time or not if they had to talk to me anyway? I covered the end of the receiver and yelled towards the kitchen.

          "Michel! What time is it?"

          He poked his head through the doorway and I noticed he was wiping a knife with a towel. And I, with my overactive imagination, thought he was up to… something. "What are you doing with that?" I eyed the knife suspiciously.

          "It is about 4AM and I am going to cook you breakfast."

          "Oh," I said, "Thanks." I took my hand off the receiver and realized Evelyn was laughing.

          "Looks like you two are getting along quite well!" She emphasized "quite" and everything else in between.

          "Shuddap. What in the world are you doing asleep at 11PM?"

          "Uh… unlike you Serena, the rest of the normal world with a day job sleeps around this time."

          "Whatever. Why did you make me stay at Michel's place?"

          "You don't seem _that_ bothered by it."

          "You have _no_ idea. What were you thinking making me live in a stranger's place for two months?"

          "Michel is not a stranger. You've met him before."

          "What? I have? When?"

          "You don't remember? At my wedding? I thought when I showed you the picture of him the other day that you knew him."

          "Well… he does seem… vaguely familiar."

          "You even danced with him!"

          "What? I did?"

          "Yes, Serena. I remember the next day; you were swooning over the "guy with emerald eyes"."

          I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion, trying to remember. "Nope, I have no memory of it."

          "Of course, also that day, Darien had broken up with his girlfriend and you came sweeping to his rescue."

          I remembered that day well, when I first saw Darien cry. It had hurt something inside me to see my rock cry. Rocks weren't supposed to cry, they were supposed to support you when _you_ cried. But that day, we reversed roles and I had held Darien in his bedroom until his sobs became empty gasps. My eyes were tearing up a little from the memory, but I shoved it aside. Darien was okay now… sort of.

          "Whatever, even if I do remember him, that was only one day. One day and one dance with a guy does not make him a non-stranger."

          "Well," she sighed, "It doesn't matter now, does it? You're already at his house right?"

          "…Yeah."

          "So take advantage of it. Paris is only a three hour drive away from there, not to mention the other places that surround his neighborhood."

          "_Only_ a three hour drive? That's a long ass time."

          "Well, then I guess the trip will tune up your experience level. Besides, Michel is a great guy and I've known him since college. He won't do you any harm and he'll make sure you get to see all the beautiful places France has to offer."

          "College? What was he doing in the U.S.?"

          "He was a foreign exchange student at my under-grad school before he transferred to the Culinary Institute of America."

          "Really?"

          "Yeah."

          "Wow… what's he doing as my tour guide then?"

          "He didn't like the competitiveness of the cooking world. Being a professional chef is no easy task. Besides, he doesn't really need to work; he's just doing it for fun."

          "What do you mean he doesn't need to work?"

          Evelyn sighed. "Listen, Serena. I really have to get up early tomorrow. If you really want to know so much about Michel, you should ask him yourself. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to answer your questions."

          "All right, all right," I chuckled, "Grumpy Dwarfelyn."

          "Ugh, I resent that!"

          "Just telling the truth babe! Anyway, go to sleep before your bags get any bigger than they already are."

          She mumbled something incoherent and I was left talking to the dial tone. I shook my head in amusement. She was worse about sleep than I was! I tumbled onto Michel's couch and sat there thoughtfully.

          Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad. It wasn't exactly Paris, but it was close enough to it that I could still visit it. Besides, the peacefulness might give me a better chance at keeping my head clear. That way, I could concentrate better and the ideas might come more easily. My mind kept conjuring different scenarios I could use and develop on, which got me really excited to start. 

But first things first- I was hungry and the drool-worthy aroma coming from the kitchen was irresistible.

---

muhar. I decided this was a nice place to end. Not as nice as the other places, but still decent enough. First, I'd like to say that I've never actually visited France, and therefore do not know the place in great detail. I would like to visit France, but since I am but a mere high school student, it is rather impossible. So, unless someone would like to pay for the airplane ticket and everything, the information on France is probably inaccurate (because the sites I managed to dig up about country-side France were few and far between) and mostly from my head. 

Second, don't you just love me for introducing a new, sexy male character?

Well, *coughs*, I do. :T

Thanks for reading and remember to review!

Tennyo012@yahoo.com


	9. nine

Almost Perfect // 9

 -+Tennyo

          "So what does mon-chat-door or whatever mean exactly?" I asked over a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Man, I was ready to worship this guy. He knew my favorite food _and_ knew how to cook it damn well too.

          Michel chuckled as I devoured the entire plate. "This is your second helping, is it not? I do not believe my cooking is that good."

          I closed my eyes to savor the taste and leaned back against the wooden chair. "It's not only good, it's GREAT! Where did you learn how to cook like this?"

          "Culinary school," he said proudly, "And my mother."

          The last had come out in a sad whisper and I sat up attentively. What was he hiding underneath that gorgeous face?

          Suddenly, he laughed bitterly and you could still see the shadows underneath his beautiful emerald eyes. "But that is a tale for another time." 

Michel stood up abruptly and his whole posture changed. He grinned widely and I could no longer see the shadows in his face. His charm came running back and he was like another person. 

"_Mon chat d'or_," he smiled in amusement, "means my golden cat." Damn. He would make a fine actor.

I played into it though; he obviously didn't want to discuss it, and I didn't know him well enough to push. "YOUR golden cat?" I exclaimed, "First of all, I am not _yours_ and second, golden cat?"

"Yes," he nodded like it all made perfect sense, "Your ferocious personality reminds me of a cat, and you _do _have golden hair." He picked up a strand of my hair and began twirling it around his finger. I froze for a moment. What was he doing? It felt incredibly odd, yet incredibly good. He was so infatuated by the smallest things that it gave me a warm, tingly feeling.

He pulled his hand away and blinked his eyes several times, as if again, he was coming out of a trance. "Sorry," he mumbled and walked towards the living room couch.

I was frozen on the spot. What was going on? My pulse was beating so fast, I thought it would pop out of my neck. 

_Hormones, Serena_, _hormones._

Too little sex in too long of a time is bad for one's health. I laughed out loud, which caused a confused look from Michel.

"What is so funny?"

I shook my head and stood up, "Nothing, nothing." I washed the dishes and cleared the table, despite Michel's insistence to help. I was staying at his place for at least two months; the least I could do was help with the housework. 

Michel was lounging lazily on the couch, with his feet stretched out in front of him when I sat on the sofa next to the couch.

"So!" I asked enthusiastically, "What's first on our agenda?"

He raised his eyebrow and looked at me quizzically. "It is nearly 6AM, _mon chat d'or_, and I have not yet slept."

"Oh," I pouted and my shoulders slumped, "That's not fair! What will I do while you sleep?"

He stretched his hand and indicated all the things that were in his living room. There was a television set, along with a whole stack of DVDs against the wall next to the kitchen. On its adjacent side was a grand piano that faced the ceiling to ceiling windowpanes. Against the wall behind us facing the kitchen was an assortment of potted flowers and plants.

I stood up and walked to the plants. "What are these?"

"Those," he stood up and walked to my side, "are herbs."

"Herbs?" I asked, "What kind of herbs?"

"Herbs that help heal the body."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"How do you know about it?"

"I learned."

"Learned? From whom?"

Again, he bowed his head and became melancholic all over again. These sudden mood swings were unnerving. It was like treading on thin ice, talking to him. It seemed like one thing or another would remind him of his mother. So I decided to change the subject.

I went up to the piano and ran my hands against the smooth surface. "Do you play?"

He followed me and stood away from the piano with his hands shoved in his pockets. "Yes, I do."

"Would you mind..?"

He smiled that unnerving smile, like he was laughing and crying at the same time. "Look!" he pointed to the windows, "The sun is rising!"

I turned around and sure enough, the sky was beginning to get brighter with each passing second. Actually, you couldn't really tell it was getting brighter by the second; it was like watching a flower grow. Every time you blinked and looked back, it was another shade brighter or another inch taller.

For a while, Michel and I stood there, watching as the world awoke with birds chirping and animals running about. Then, we both got tired just standing there, so we pulled the couch over to face the sunrise. I sat with my knees bent under me, hugging one of the elaborately woven pillows from his couch. Michel was in his relaxed pose, with his arms stretched on top of the arm and head of the sofa.

We kept staring in the general direction of the sun until it finally rose to its full glory and our human eyes couldn't bear the intensity of its light. I continued gazing at it, mesmerized by its strength and basked in its warmth. 

I turned my head, finally noticing that Michel had drifted off to sleep after the last few rays of sun had come bursting out.

I just watched him for awhile, admiring his highly sculpted face, his aristocratic nose, and his chocolate tussled hair. Michel looked adorable while he slept- his face devoid of the sadness that hung in his eyes. I noticed then, how much I knew just by looking into his eyes. Without them, his face looked innocent, like a child's. 

          I didn't know how long I sat there looking at him, but after awhile, I dozed off too.

--+

          There was a growing pain that became more and more unbearable. I tried to ignore it and resume my slumber, but it just wouldn't go away. Finally, I awoke with a groan and found a pair of emerald eyes staring at me.

          "You are finally awake," he whispered. Michel was straining his neck to look at me, since I had somehow ended up lying on his chest. Glad that I didn't drool this time, I tried to sit up, but found that I couldn't. Our legs were intertwined at odd angles, and I blushed when I noticed the position we were in.

          _Gosh Serena, you sure know how to pick them._

          Slowly, I untangled myself out of the mess, stood up, and stretched. "So," I said while my bones cracked from being in an uncomfortable position for so long, "What are we doing today?"

          "I was thinking we should go back to Paris first, and see the sights that you want to see," he said while getting up and smoothing out the wrinkles on his green sweater.

          "Paris? Wait, what time is it?"

          He glanced at his watch and replied, "It's nearly noon."

          I frowned. "But once we get there, it'll be three already. Four if we run into traffic. That doesn't leave us much time to do anything."

          He smiled mischievously. "Tsk. You didn't really come to France so you could enjoy the daylight hours did you?"

          "Uh… I guess?"

          He smiled and shook his head. "What is it that you Americans call Paris?"

          I blushed when I finally realized what he was getting at. "… The city of lights," I muttered.

          "And _why_ would they call it the city of lights?" he continued.

          I threw a pillow at him, which he skillfully swatted away. "Because of the night life, okay!"

          He grinned playfully and picked up another pillow from the couch. He cupped his ear and said, "Whaatt? Because of whaaat?"

          "Because of the night life!" I yelled in between giggles. He hurled the pillow at me, but being the quick person I am, I ducked it easily. Of course, a true warrior of a pillow fight didn't just need finesse. This type of battle required stamina and skill, which after living with my younger brother, Sammy, for the better part of my life, had taught me the rigors of a pillow war.

          Michel, who appeared to be an only child, was no match for my smooth dodging skills and instant reflexes. Pretty soon, his chest was heaving from the lack of air and he raised a white handkerchief that he procured out of nowhere and admitted defeated.

          "I-," he wheezed, "-I give up."

          I smiled smugly and threw the pillow that I was getting ready to be my final attack onto the couch. 

"Of course! You are no match for me, Serena the Great!"

          His chuckles started out low, then it escalated to full scale laughter. Like his sadness, his laughter was contagious, and pretty soon, we were both rolling on the floor laughing like a bunch of wild hyenas.

          When our breathing finally came back to normal, I rolled over to Michel's side and I spared a glance at his watch. "It's almost one! If we don't go NOW, then we won't make it in time to see the museums!"

          I quickly stood up and dusted myself off. I went to the bathroom and took a look at myself. Yikes! I was in the presence of a gorgeous guy looking like _that_! I ran to my bedroom to grab some clothes and a towel, and hurried into the bathroom.

          The bathroom was small, yet elegant. The tiles were white with light, silver sprinkles on them. The Jacuzzi, which was next to a small window that overlooked a great expanse of trees, was surrounded by black marble with white veins that had three steps leading up to it. On top of the same marbled countertop was a stylish bowl-shaped sink with a silver arched faucet. The mirror took up the remainder of that wall, which held globe-shaped lights that reminded me of miniature sized moons.

          I looked around in awe and admired the extravagance of the bathroom. How was Michel able to afford all of this? I shook my head and smiled. So this is what Evelyn was talking about. He couldn't possibly own such a nice house if he was a chef! I guess it had something to do with his parents…

          I frowned at the thought. Something terrible must've happened to them. Otherwise, why would he get so upset whenever I even slightly mentioned his parents? It was odd.

          I pushed the thought away. Truthfully, it wasn't really any of my business, but being the nosy person that I was, I put it on my list of things to do before I left. I mean, how bad could it possibly be?

---+

          Once I got out of the shower, I slipped into a cool summer dress. It was white with floral patterns that ran along the edges of the dress. The straps that tied behind my neck showed off my shoulders, which- I was told- was one of my best features. For footwear, I put on a cute little pair of white sandals, suitable for long walks on the beach. We weren't going to the beach, but it was good enough for strolls throughout the city. Today, I decided, was for touring the city and seeing the sights. It required a lot of walking- hence, no crazy heels that will make me trip on the old stones.

          I heard a knock on the door and Michel's voice on the other side. "Are you finished, _mon chat d'or_?"

          "Yeah, almost," I took another look at myself in the mirror and decided to pull my still damp hair up into a messy bun. I spared another glance and wondered if I should put on any makeup. I hated the thought of putting on makeup, but…

          As a last minute decision, I applied some lipstick. Lipstick never hurt anyone, right? Finally, I swung the door open and saw Michel standing there with charcoal slacks and a light green dress-shirt that emphasized his eyes. He had showered and dressed while I was still mulling over whether I should put make up on, and he looked fantastic.

          My heart plunged to the floor. Michel looked like he was about to go to some fancy dinner party, while I looked… plainer.

"Uh… are we going someplace nice or something?"

          He grinned and reached his hand out, "Maybe, but it does not matter. We can go shopping!"

          I smiled uneasily at him, "Are you sure? I could go… change."

          He shook his head and smiled in reassurance. "It's fine. You look great," he shook his hand in front of me, "Now come! We have no time to waste!"

          Without thinking, I grabbed his hand with one hand and my handbag and my camera in the other. Together, we walked briskly towards his car and off we went. 

To Paris, at last.

---+

          In the light of day, I could see the surroundings much clearer. The gorgeous hills passed by in a green blur as Michel speeded down the road. I let my hair down and let it blow against the wind when Michel lowered the hood of his car.

          Last night, it was too dark to tell, but now I saw that his car was a silver Porsche. However, it looked slightly different from the ones in the U.S. and I wondered where he got it from.

          "How come your Porsche looks different from the ones in the U.S.?"

          "I had mine imported from Austria," he said casually.

          My eyes bulged. "Austria! Doesn't that cost a fortune?"

          He shrugged. "What good is money if you don't spend it?"

          I frowned and slouched into my seat. "You could save it."

          He snorted- the first sign of arrogance that I heard from him. Of course it had to be in there somewhere, but I was still surprised to see it for some reason.

          "Save it for what reason?"

          "So you'll have some later on."

          "I do not spend extravagantly. I only buy what I need."

          "And you _need_ a special Porsche imported from Austria?"

          He grinned wide enough to bare his pearly white teeth. We both wore sunglasses once we got into the car, so I couldn't really tell what he was thinking.

          "Yes," he quipped, "I do."

          I smiled and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "So, I hear you went to the Culinary Institute of America?"

          He turned his head to look at me for a second, then went back to the road. "Yes, I did."

          "What made you decide to become a cook?"

          "I loved making dishes, ever since I was a child. My mother had taught me the things she had learned when she went to the Culinary Institute of France."

          I looked at him warily and this time, he didn't slip into one of his bouts of sadness. Instead, he happily reminisced of his childhood memories. He smiled and his face grew soft as he recalled the pleasant events of his past.

          "My mother," he said, "was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. She used to sing around the house while she did the laundry or cooked in the kitchen. Or whistled. Yes, she was an excellent whistler. She whistled everywhere she went. Whether she was happy or sad, she always had something to whistle about. You could tell by the tone of her music, what kind of mood she was in. When she was happy, we would play around the house. And if I was good, she would lead me to the kitchen, and we would peruse the refrigerator. After much debate and laughter, we would agree on what dish to make," he looked up wistfully at the clear blue skies, "My mother, she was a great cook. She was much better than I am."

          I was looking at the sky too now, but for a slightly different reason. My heart ached a little as I remembered my own childhood. It seemed centuries ago when I would run around our house in the suburbs, without a care in the world.

          "What happened to her?" I asked quietly.

          His grip on the steering wheel tightened and he looked straight at the road. "She died," he whispered, "They always do."

          My throat tightened as the tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. His words had a certain finality to it, as if he believed that death was all there was to life. 

I reached out for him but stopped myself. This was Michel. Michel Bouvier. What else did I know about him? Not much. But even if I didn't know all that much about his past, I knew _him_. I knew the way he smiled, how his eyes would glitter like distant stars. I knew the way his eyes sometimes held sorrow the way others held laughter. I knew the curve of his lips and the strength of his arms. He was Michel. _My_ Michel.

          How he had become mine in such a short time was still a question to me, but it didn't matter to me _how_ he was, it mattered that he was. There was something about Michel that drew me close to him like moth to a flame. Maybe it would end up being detrimental, but then again, maybe it wouldn't. I decided then, to throw away all caution. I was in Paris, dammit! It was the world renowned city of love and I was going to make the best of it.

          So I went ahead and reached out to him. I rubbed his arm in reassurance and watched as he slowly relaxed.

          He smiled sadly. "You, _mon chat d'or_, will be the end of me!" Then his mouth opened in a sudden burst of laughter that startled and pleased me at the same time. It was a wonderful sound, his laughter, and I longed to hear it again. 

For the rest of the car ride, we sat in a comfortable silence as the steady rhythm of the Porsche on the smooth gravel nearly lulled me to sleep. 

My head jerked when the car came to a stop. I hadn't realized I had truly fallen asleep until I slowly opened my eyes, dazed. 

"Where are we?" I asked.

Michel gave me a sideways grin and replied, "You are up. I did not think it would be so easy for you to fall asleep."

I glared at him, or tried to at least. It was hard for me to pretend to be mad at someone, and for Michel it seemed almost impossible. Maybe it was his easy smile or the way he seemed to lounge everywhere he sat, but just as there was sadness concealed in his eyes, the rest of him seemed to emanate peace.

I smiled lazily at him and stretched. "You haven't answered my question."

"We are near the Louvre," he explained, "I'm afraid there will be a bit of a walk."

I looked up and realized we were under the cool shade of trees, where bits of light streamed through. Beyond the trees, I could see the summer sky, filled with fluffy white clouds like the ones children draw in their first pictures. The cool breeze gently brushed my shoulders, carrying the smell of baked breads and blooming flowers. 

"Great," I exclaimed, "Today is the perfect day for a walk."

Michel look startled, as if he had expected me to pout and complain about the walk. "You do not object?"

I opened the car door and got out, stretching muscles that had been unused for far too long. "No," I smiled, "Why would I be?"

He stared at me a bit longer than was polite, then turned away and took the keys out, taking care not to look in my direction as his hands fumbled around in his car. I realized they were nervous gestures, but hadn't the faintest idea why he was suddenly nervous.

"Michel?" I asked with a raised brow.

Michel opened the car door, got out, and shut it abruptly, reminding me to shut mine as well. 

My expression was still confused even as Michel strode over and offered me his arm. I politely took it, but continued to stay in my place when he tried to move forward.

He turned his head slightly, as if he were afraid to look at me directly. "Is something the matter?" he said coolly. 

My confusion deepened. What in the world did I do that caused him to act this way? I quickly repeated the conversation we had in my head, but found nothing I said that could've ticked him off. 

I opened my mouth to tell him that _he_ was the matter, but shut it. I didn't know him well enough to be that blunt and I really didn't want to ruin my first day touring Paris. Besides, I had enough practice with people to know that this was one of those weird mood swings that something small sets off. The person in question would deny they would have such mood swing, and a pointless argument would follow.

I looked at Michel, really looked at him, and wondered if the peacefulness and the sorrow was a façade. Maybe, for once, I was completely off on my judgment of a person. As I looked at his face that tilted defiantly upward, I wondered if I was rusty with my analytical people skills. Either he was an extremely fine actor, or the true Michel was a bottled up storm, contained in his peaceful exterior.

I shook my head and dismissed the thoughts. This was my vacation. I didn't travel across the Atlantic Ocean so that I could shovel more emotional shit. Men always complained that women were a moody bunch, but I was beginning to think otherwise.

With that in mind, I strode forward with Michel in tow. If he wasn't going to enjoy the day, then it really wasn't my problem.

---

IMPORTANT: I've made REVISIONS to ALL the previous chapters. So if you guys go back and read it, you'll see that things are a little different. So please? Reread it? Por favor? 

Thanks to Serafina who took time out of her busy day to read the revised chapters beforehand. *smooches*

And thanks to those of you that will reread it too! Right? You're GOING TO GO READ IT?! ;]

Tennyo012@yahoo.com

I'd like to know what you guys think of the revised and (hopefully) improved chapters. Thanks for reading!


	10. ten

Almost Perfect // 10

 -+Tennyo

The musée du Louvre, also known as the Louvre Palace and Museum, was a magnificent building filled with thousands of works of art dating back to the Renaissance and beyond. From the entrance, the structure stretched as far as the eye could see, making me wonder how long it had taken to build one of the most famous museums in the world. 

          The short walk here had been oddly quiet, but as we approached the Louvre, my excitement caught up with me and I started to chatter nonsensically. My babbling must've calmed Michel down somewhat because we were laughing and talking like old pals when we reached the entrance.

          As Michel bought tickets for the guided tour, I wandered outside to fully digest the grandness of this palace. While I moved back far enough to take in the building, I wondered what it would have been like to live during the times this was built. In the back of my head, ideas developed as I daydreamed of days gone by, when extravagant things like this was built at the current monarch's whim. It must've taken ages- not to mention tremendous amounts of money and manpower- to build something as grandeur as this. 

When I was younger, I remembered I had feelings of disdain towards kings and queens. While the monarchs lived in luxury, the commoners groveled at their feet, living in poverty. I used to think it was cruel and a complete waste for a nation's wealth to be spent on needless extravagance while the rest of its people starved. But standing here, in front of a building filled with so much history, I couldn't say it was a _complete_ waste. People lived and died, but things like the Louvre reminded the present generation of great times that had passed.

I gasped as Michel seemingly popped out of nowhere.

"Hellooo," he said as he continued to wave his hand in front of my face, "Is anyone home?"

I slapped his arm away playfully. "Yes," I said, "Took you long enough!"

"Me?" he said innocently, "I did not take long at all _mon chat d'or_, you were merely staring into space for far too long. If you are so bedazzled by the outside, then wait until you see the inside!"

Michel led me towards the main entrance, where the tour group was gathering. As we waited for more people to join our group, I couldn't stand still because something caught my eye. 

"Michel! Look!" I exclaimed, "That's amazing!" I ignored the flat look I got from the tour guide and dragged Michel away.

          Smack dab in the middle of the great expanse of the courtyard was a pyramid made of glass. _La Pyramide_ was the focus of the main entrance, representing both the past and the present. The glass told of new things to come, and the pyramid itself was a reminder of past glory. 

The symbolism wasn't lost on me. The pyramid epitomized what the human race has been doing since the beginning of civilization, trying to move forward while clinging onto the past. I wasn't sure if that was the intended purpose of the pyramid, but it made me think. 

Why was it always so hard to let go? The times before are long gone, yet our consciences refuses us reprieve from painful memories. Sometimes, I wished my memory wasn't so long. Even as Michel gently guided me towards one of the fountains, I couldn't stop thinking of what I had left behind.

Michel's voice broke my thoughts. "What are you thinking so hard on _mon chat d'or_?"

I barely managed a smile as I shook my head. "Nothing important."

_Enough of this_.

Maybe it was cowardly of me to keep avoiding it, but I never claimed to be a confrontational type of person. I was straightforward in many things, but not in matters of the heart.

I shook my head again, stronger this time, as if I could toss all my memories away with a simple shake of the head. Looking at _La Pyramide_ and all that it stood for, I decided that some memories were worth keeping around. However, _which_ memories to keep was still a question, and I was certainly not in the mood to figure out which.

The gentle sprays of water from the fountain relieved some of the tension in my body. That and also standing next to Michel just made me feel calmer. For someone whose moods were unpredictable, he sure did give off the feeling of peace the way some people exuded anger or misery. He was a bit of an enigma, was Michel. Then again, I couldn't deny that Darien wasn't.

There. I said his bloody name.

A part of me was relieved, but another more dominant part was panicked. My guts told me that analyzing my relationship with Darien was going to go nowhere I wanted it to go. Admitting that was a step, but my feet weren't up to climbing stairs right now.

          The weight on my left hand reminded me of my camera and I let my thoughts dissolve. I quickly shoved it into a passing tourist's hand.

          "Can you take a picture of us?"

          The tourist, who I wasn't sure understood me or not, nodded. The gesture was clear enough, so the tourist waited for us to take a position in front of the fountain. 

          "Smile!" the tourist said in an accent I couldn't quite place.

          I smiled and tensed slightly when Michel slipped his arm around my waist. Startled, I frowned at Michel when the guy took a shot and asked the guy if he could take the picture for us again. For a brief second, I wondered if I should put my arm around his waist too. Before I could give it another thought, I slipped my arm around his waist and smiled for the camera. Michel's arm tightened when I did so, and I looked up to see him smiling too.

          The tourist snapped the picture and I didn't have the heart to ask him to do it again. Oh, well. The important thing was that I got the fountain.

          I looked at the great pyramid that was the centerpiece of the courtyard and contemplated taking a picture of it. Would the glare from the sun mess up the picture?

          Michel noticed my worry and took the camera from me. Before I had a chance to protest, he said, "Look, you have an anti-glare feature on your digital camera. Do not worry about the sunlight."

          I scratched my head, "Er. I didn't know that…"

          He smiled in amusement. "Of course not. Writers are known to be technophobes." He shoved the camera into another unsuspecting tourist and positioned us in front of the pyramid.

          I was able to smile for the camera this time and playfully swatted Michel's arm when the fellow was done taking the picture.

          "Hey!" he laughed and thanked the fellow who smiled and returned the camera.

          "We are NOT technophobes! I happen to be a proud owner of a laptop that has Windows XP and… and…"

          "See," he smirked, "What did I tell you?"

          "And Office XP!" I retaliated, "HA!"

          He grabbed my hand and we began walking back to the museum. "What a travesty," he said, "For an expensive laptop to be wasted on you."

          "What!" I swatted him again. "I KNOW HOW TO USE ITS FEATURES!"

          Michel chuckled and ignored all the looks we were getting. I liked that he wasn't embarrassed by it at all. Then again, this was only the first time he was experiencing it…

          "Office XP is only one of many features, _mon chat d'or_. I am sure your laptop has more to offer than that."

          I gave a defiant humph and continued to walk towards the museum. It only took us a bit to track down the tour group, but once we did, we resumed the rest of the tour with only a slight frown of disapproval from the tour guide.

          "…you can see from the map, there are many places to explore at the Louvre," the tour guide said, "We will only have enough time to visit the highlights of the museum. If you would like, you may wander on your own and see the rest of the artworks, but please remember that the Louvre closes at 6 today."

          "Will we be able to visit again tomorrow?" someone in the crowd raised their hand and asked.

          "Of course," the tour guide said, "Just buy another ticket."

          The group chuckled collectively, though I wasn't sure what was so funny. 

As everyone made plans to come the next day or look around by themselves, the tour guide led us through the exhibits on the ground floor. Most of them were antiquities unknown to me, but the tour guide explained to us the history behind some of them.

          The tour went by in a blur of artwork from all over the world. Michel and I walked in a comfortable silence as we passed by so many works of art that I never even heard of. It made me feel tiny, miniscule, to be surrounded by statues larger than me, its importance far greater than I.

          It reminded me that the problems I had, the problems _anyone_ had, were trivial compared to the problems of the world. From outer space, astronauts and satellites can see the predominantly blue globe filled with vast areas of land and even greater amounts of water. Only until you magnify a tiny portion of earth, and zoom in many times over, can you see a city. It would take even more magnifications to find a person. To the universe, we were less than a dot, less than a speck of dust or a grain of sand. Practically nothing.

          I was insignificant to the world. 

That I knew a long time ago. However, I was significant to my friends and family, as was any individual. The thought steadied my nerves somewhat. I was small; therefore my problems were even smaller.

          "What are you smiling about?" Michel asked with a playful smile.

          My smile deepened. "Something good."

          "Ahh…" he said, "That is good news."

          I chuckled and replied, "Yes, it is."

          Michel's eyes twinkled, just the way I liked it. Without thinking about it, I took his hand in my own and caught up with the group. His hand was warm and soft, for his profession didn't require any physical work, not really anyway. I had forgotten for awhile that Michel was a cook. 

          "Michel."

          He raised his eyebrow and his face was full of that old mischief as he let my hand go and bowed at the waist. Michel took my hand and laid a kiss upon it.

"Yes?" he stood and said, "What would my lady have of me?"

          I laughed. This was too sweet of an opportunity to give up!

"Some great, orgasmic sex," I muttered.

          Michel leaned his head closer. "What?"

          I laughed harder and fought the urge to nibble on his ear. This was a very public place, though I didn't think the tourists would mind. This was Europe after all, where sex wasn't kept under wraps like it was by the prudish Americans. The French, especially, would not be disgruntled by public displays of affection.

          I didn't try it though. I _am_ American, and no amount of logic could convince me to do such a daring act. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure that Michel wouldn't mind. Maybe I was wrong and his sorrow was really caused by a former lover. I didn't know and I didn't really want to know. I was curious to know of his private life, but I was also very well aware of the old saying:

          _Curiosity killed the cat_.

          Not to say I was afraid of being murdered or something, but as I had recently learned, there was more than one way to die.

---+

          It was funny to see so many people bending their backs and stretching their necks to get a good look. The tour guide had led us through the Grand Gallery that was filled with famous paintings, mostly by Italian artists. I only knew a handful of them, but I grew eager as we approached the famous room, Salle des Etats. 

The crowd that encircled the glass case in the middle of the room was enamored by something. I had no desire to contend with jabbering elbows, so Michel and I hung back in hopes that the throng would thin out soon.

          Of course, I couldn't blame their curiosity. Just like the other paintings in this room, the _Mona Lisa_ hung innocuously on the wall. However, the rest of the paintings weren't receiving as much attention. It was silly of me to think it, but I thought it was wrong to put such a famous work of art amongst other beautiful paintings. Maybe they weren't as famous, but I didn't think they appreciated being neglected.

          The glass enclosing, I would think, acted not only to protect the famous painting from burglars, but also as a safety measure to prevent people from drooling on the _Mona Lisa_. Okay, maybe not drooling, but I'm sure thousands of hands had itched to touch such a renowned painting. It was a rule and even if no one bothered to read the signs, most people had enough sense not to touch these age-old paintings and damage them. Nonetheless, with famous works of art like the _Mona Lisa_, maybe people forgot that logic.

          Glass enclosing or not, people were still snapping away at the painting. I thought of taking a few shots myself, but figured there were higher quality pictures available anyway. A professional photographer I was not.

          A group suddenly moved away from the glass and Michel and I quickly moved to take their place.

          Frankly, I wasn't quite sure what was so appealing about the _Mona Lisa_. She was a woman, not exactly beautiful but today's standards, but I doubted that was what made her famous. 

          Her smile, I think it was. The mysterious smile looked like it held the secrets of the world. From her expression, I gathered that she would never reveal those secrets, not to just anyone at least.

          I tilted my head to the side and examined the painting some more. I was no artist and knew practically nothing of art techniques, but the _Mona Lisa_ seemed to be a bit off. The scenery behind her didn't match. The landscape on one side was higher than the other, as if the world she lived in wasn't stable or real.

          I was well aware of the fact that painted landscapes didn't need to exist on earth, but most artists at least made the view _look_ real, like it really did belong in some unknown location. 

          Never a student of art myself, I still had an inkling that Leonardo da Vinci was suggesting something here. He was a genius, after all.

          Nonetheless, I had very little knowledge on the _Mona Lisa-_ I wasn't one of those cultured Manhattanites. I was an author whose habits were similar to that of a recluse. I didn't go to parties every night or attend social gatherings. I didn't wear fancy dresses often or mingle with sophisticated people, chattering about the latest gossip. Most of all, I didn't know much at all about paintings, or sculptures, or anything artistic at all!

          Standing there, in front of the world's most famous painting, I felt oddly out of place. I felt like a stranger in this world. Of course I was a stranger; I'm a tourist in Paris, but something overrode the logic and I couldn't stop my heart from racing. To my knowledge, I was not ochlophobic, but the group of people that had stood behind me suddenly made me panic.

          My eyes darted left to right, right to left. My palms began to sweat and I felt my pulse quickening until it thundered in my ears. French, everyone was speaking French. And Dutch? Was that Dutch too? My head jerked to my right as I heard a burst of Spanish and beyond that, some Italian. The quiet murmur of the crowd suddenly became a deafening roar in my ears.

          Two things happened at once: Someone bumped into me from the back and I saw a person's reflection on the glass.

          "DARIEN!" I screamed and the room silenced.

          "Serena? Is something wrong?" Michel's voice seemed miles away.

          I shook my head a little too quickly and began to edge away from the crowd. The man that had bumped into me apologized again, in a language I couldn't figure out at the moment.

          The man that I saw the reflection of was walking towards the entryway. It didn't occur to me that it was impossible for Darien to be in Paris, at the Louvre, at the Salle des Etats right this moment, but I wasn't even close to thinking rationally.

          On impulse, I ran to him. _I had to talk to him before he left!_

          "Darien!" I cried out as I grabbed him on the shoulder and turned him around.

          "_Madam_?" the stranger asked.

          I backed away. "S-Sorry."

          The man gave me another strange look and walked away.

          The embarrassment cleared my head somewhat. As I watched the stranger move away, it reminded me of when Darien walked away. Unlike the stranger though, Darien had walked away from my life. This man, with the width of his shoulders so much like Darien's, had a narrower waist. Darien wasn't fat, his waist was just built a little wider.

          A hand on my shoulder made me jump. My nerves weren't calm yet.

          "Serena?" Michel asked with his beautiful emerald eyes full of concern.

          I turned my body around and gave him a weary smile. "Yeah?"

          "Is there anything you would like me to do?"

          I scanned the room with its tourists and its famous paintings. I didn't know anything in this room. The artworks were well-known, but I knew as little about it as I did the people. My eyes darted to the _Mona Lisa_ and her mysterious smile and I felt my heart skip a beat, not in a good way.

"Home," I finally said, "Take me home."

---+

          Michel had taken my words to mean his house, which of course, was the only home he could take me to. However, in that instant, I hadn't meant his getaway in the country. 

          I had lived in New York City for most of my life, leaving only a few times to visit other states within the country. Being in an entirely new continent was different and made me feel somewhat homesick.

          As the Porsche glided through the countryside once more, I couldn't help but notice the strangeness of my surroundings. Yesterday and this morning, everything had seemed beautiful and new. Now, even the wind felt alien.

          The sun was setting, sending lights of pink and purple across the horizon and decorating the blue sky like diamonds on the slender neck of a beautiful woman. I appreciated the splendor of nature, but was not moved by it. City dwellers often went upstate every spring or summer to leave the pollution of the metropolis. I, however, was not one of them. Maybe it was because I was raised on a farm, but the country reminded me of boredom. The rural area was a good place to visit on vacation, but in my opinion, not a good place to live in. It was too quiet for my tastes, the lifestyle a little dull. While I enjoyed silence and keeping to myself at times, the background noise of the city traffic was actually soothing.

          The silence in the car brought me away from my thoughts, made me realize that I was thousands of miles away from Manhattan. I didn't understand my feelings. I was only here for a little more than a day, yet I wanted the touch of home.

          I looked at Michel who had been silent for the entire ride. Then again, I hadn't been talking much either.

          He must've felt my gaze on him because he spoke. "Hey."

          "Hey," I said casually.

          "All right now?" he said softly, as if he were afraid to break the stillness.

          "Yeah," I replied and fell silent again.

          Michel took my quietness to mean I didn't want to talk about it, and I was glad he didn't push. I think I just had some sort of epiphany today, but I wasn't ready to explore the meaning of it. It was just a small realization that dawned on me while hyperventilating at the Louvre, but I was hesitant to delve too deep into it.

          Actually, I had a hunch that I _was_ ready for it, but was too stubborn to analyze what it meant for me and my life. I was one of those people who didn't like change very much and reacted badly when it came. I existed only in my world, the world which I have created when I realized a long time ago that reality was unstable, that change occurred everyday. Right now, I felt that the wall between my world and the next was too tall for me to climb.

          Nevertheless, I did allow myself to admit one thing:

          Being in the unfamiliar countryside with Michel next to me held a world of opportunity, filled with tales waiting to be discovered. The problem was, was I brave enough to be the explorer and conquer unknown territories? Or was I going to be a scaredy cat and run away from it all? 

---

Sorry for the long, long wait! I could give a million excuses but all of them would sound the same. So! I just hope you had a good read, and remember to check out the revised versions if you haven't done so already. Chapter 9 has also been modified somewhat. 

Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated and welcomed.

tennyo012@yahoo.com


	11. eleven

Almost Perfect 11

 -Tennyo

Michel and I have been stuck in this house for the past few days because I refused to leave. No way was I going to go back out there. I just had a panic attack and I wasn't about to let my vulnerable self be thrown right back out into that world of… strangeness.

That's how I was describing reality right now. Isn't that funny? I call reality strange when of all things, _I _should be the one that's called strange. But I've taken psychology before and I knew that this was one of those defense mechanisms. When one's mind cannot handle the situation, then it projects it to something else. What a fabulous thing our minds do for us, eh? And all unconsciously too! Fascinating.

          Meanwhile, I've been working on my next book. I didn't have to start this early, but I didn't have anything else better to do. It was either that or spend more time with Michel, which I was unwilling to let myself do. With every small gesture, every quick glance, I found myself feeling more and more attracted to Michel. Some days he catches me staring at him. How could I not? Michel is incredibly handsome with his high cheekbones and beautiful eyes. Something about him- his peaceful demeanor maybe- makes me want to wrap his arms around my shoulders and sink into another world.

His eyes most of all, were what made him, _him_. Otherwise, he'd just be some cute French guy that girls squabble about for a few days and promptly forget about. His eyes were a dark emerald, the state the mineral is in before it's carved and shaped according to man's desire for perfection. It held magic and mystery, filled with innumerable depths. It was ethereal, mystifying, yet… fearsome.

The truth was, I was afraid to plunge into those depths. Whenever we had one of those intense moments when one of us just could not stop looking at other, I'm always the first to look away. His eyes were gorgeous, but I was just… frightened. It's odd for someone to be afraid of such things, but I was. I was afraid of what I'd get myself into if I truly let go and let fantasy consume me.

Yes. That was it.

Michel was the guy that every heroine in my stories would fall for, the guy any sane woman in this world could ever possibly want. He was gorgeous from the tips of his baby-smooth, curly brown hair, to that boyish grin, to the strength of his arms… To sum it up, Michel was HOT. Every inch of him was muscled, not the overly-muscled-scary-body-builder type, but just enough muscle to make him appear strong and not imperious at the same time.

And just to show that I'm not completely controlled by my hormones, Michel was a nice guy. He was easygoing and relaxed; the perfect match for someone like me who was always tense and frenetic. Michel would be good for me. He told me so himself.

So what was the problem here? _There was no problem_. Or so I keep telling myself. I sound like I'm about to marry this guy, which I assure you I am not. However, since I _am_ living with him, things are a little different.

          I think under normal circumstances, I wouldn't be as close to Michel as I am now. Yet, it would seem that the present situation has drawn me closer to him somehow, and he closer to me. If we had done that whole dating thing right from the start, then things would most likely be much different. I most likely would've dumped Michel after the second date because I would've realized by then that he carried a lot of emotional luggage.

          When we got back from the Louvre, Michel told me about his mysterious past. His parents had died in a plane crash when he was nine years old. They were going away on a business trip; his mother hated to be without her husband for long periods of time and she refused to have Michel miss any more school. Little Michel was angry at them for leaving him alone, so when they came to his room to say goodbye, he stubbornly did not answer. Of course, as fate would have it, that was the last chance he had to say his farewells to his parents. The next day, his nanny came running with the news. Monsieur and Madam Bouvier were dead.

          I may sound indifferent now, but I felt the regret in Michel's eyes when he told me his story. It explained a lot of things: his wealth, his silence, the shadows in his eyes. Some things time could not erase, not even the memory of your dead parents. I was betting the thing he regretted the most was not being able to say goodbye. The living was always hung up about that, always wanting to say goodbye as if that would make the death of their loved ones easier. I suppose it brought some closure, but they were just words. Then again, my parents were alive and well so I shouldn't be the one to talk.

          A part of me ached for Michel. A part of me wanted to be the one to chase his childhood demons away and have him smile that brilliant smile. Yet… yet I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wasn't sure why yet and I haven't been trying to figure it out, so I've been avoiding him.

          How does one avoid someone in their own house?

          I cannot claim I am able to write a How-to book on how to do just that, but I think I've managed pretty well. I pulled my artistic license out (not _really_ of course) and locked myself in my room for days. I needed space, I told him, I needed to start working on my book.

          One could go crazy staying in a space for too long, but I was used to it. A childhood of being locked up in my room, dreaming of other worlds, had sharpened my ability to stay here and not scream my head off. I was my own jailer, so to speak.

          What did I do? I wrote. Well, not literally. My laptop had been on for the past few days. Clickity clack clack. I was beginning to tire of the ceaseless noise of the keyboard. Maybe I should write and transfer it to the computer later? Naw. Slight annoyances do not make me less lazy.

          I sighed and lied on top of my bed. It was a nice bed. Comfortable. The frilly stuff didn't impress me anymore; it was just curtains and laces. Maybe I did need to get out of this room. My adjectives were usually better than that. Not many authors can make it with single word descriptions.

          No, no. Leaving wasn't a good idea. I didn't want to confront Michel. Was I even supposed to confront him? About what? I didn't know. I just didn't know anymore. Was he expecting me to pronounce my undying love for him? I didn't think so, but sometimes, late at night, I could hear his footsteps pause in front of my door, as if he was wondering if it was all right for him to disturb me. He was tiptoeing around me like I was a bomb about to go off, which wasn't too far from the truth, but he was also waiting for something. It was like he was waiting to diffuse the bomb; it had to be done in the right place, at the right moment, or the effort was wasted and the whole thing would blow up.

I've never met a man who had as much patience as he did and it almost made me want to scream at him. What the hell did he want?

          Curiosity killed the cat and I did not have nine lives. Call me a wimp, but best not to find out. So I wrote.

          Forcing myself to write was like forcing a prisoner to calmly lay his head on the nook for the guillotine. It just doesn't work very well. There's usually lots of struggling involved. Messy, very messy.

          But I tried. I still had the challenge in mind, the one Darien and I had made. I wasn't too sure if the deal was still on, but writing something I've never written before would prove to be a challenge. I liked a good challenge every now and then, but wasn't sure if my heart was up for this one.

          I lifted my head and blinked at the screen. The cursor was flashing. On. Off. On. Off. When I typed, the cursor stayed still. I almost had the urge to write, anything, if only the cursor would stop blinking!

          I groaned and rolled over to my side, away from my stupid laptop. This wasn't working. I couldn't force myself to write. Whatever it was that enabled me to write stories had to come on its own. No pushing. No shoving.

          God, I sound like my second grade teacher. Lack of sleep will do that to ya. The nights have been restless; the messy sheets will attest to that. I've never been stuck before. Just… stuck. I had no idea what to do. If only…!

          I sighed for what must have been the fifth time today and I had only been up for four hours. Darien wasn't here. If he were, he'd help me figure it out and I wouldn't be caught in this mess! But ahh… Darien was part of the mess this time. I couldn't run to him to help me figure out how I felt about him. That's… weird. It'd be like asking your doctor how to operate on him.

          A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts- not that they were getting me anywhere.

          "Serena?" asked Michel, "Are you all right?"

          I rolled out of bed and went to open the door. His concerned voice made me feel guilty; it wasn't right for me to lock him out of my life, out of his own room.

          I took a deep breath and opened the door. Michel stood there, still sexy, still handsome. He was wearing a yellow muscle shirt that emphasized his tan nicely, not to mention his muscles. Worn jeans covered his legs and bare feet. Comfortable.

          "Hi," I said.

          "Hello," he replied and looked like he was going to say something more, but stopped.

          I smiled. "…Hi."

          Michel smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth. "You busy?"

          "Um…" I glanced at my laptop with its partially filled page. If I lied and said I was, Michel would know. Besides, I couldn't do that to him, not anymore. "No, no I'm not. Why, what's up?"

          "Oh, I was thinking if maybe you'd want to go out today," he said, "After all, you've been in here for three days. I'm afraid I have been a terrible host."

          "Oh no, no!" I replied, "You've been great! It's me. I'm just a little… antisocial at times."

          He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really?"

          I gave him a flat look. "Yeah, really."

          Michel grinned knowingly. "Well then, that's perfect. I have the perfect place for us to go."

          I raised an eyebrow and looked at him warily. "The last time we went out…"

          "Don't worry, it won't be like the museum at all. Again, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken you there right on your first day. I should have eased you into it."

          I shook my head and touch his hand gently. "Michel, it's not your fault. Besides, I'm the one that suggested we go to a museum. I'm just going through a bit of a crisis right now. I'm fine. You don't need to worry so much."

          Michel looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Wow. That was news to me. Is that what he had been thinking these past few days? Worrying if I would be pissed at him for some strange reason?

          "So is your crisis over now?"

          I tilted my head playfully. "I don't know… Where would you take me?"

          "Some place quiet."

          He lowered his head when he said that, as if he were thinking thoughts that he didn't want me to figure out. Disturbing. Interesting. Exhilarating.

          "No surprises, Michel."

          "Let's go out to dinner," he said, "Just us."

          "Are you asking me out on a date?" I asked teasingly.

          "Yes."

          My eyes bulged. I was just joking! We lived together! Roomies aren't supposed to go out on dates! I mean, Michel is a sexy roommate, but…

          I looked at him. Did I just imagine it or did he lean closer to give me an extra spectacular view of his chest?

Michel didn't even blink. In fact, he was looking at me intently, a little _too_ intently. I fought the urge to look away. I knew a challenge when I saw one. I wasn't going to back down.

          "Great," I replied.

          "Good."

---

          I was embarrassed to admit it, but it took me an hour and a half to get ready. I usually didn't take this long; just slip on a dress, apply some makeup, and go. It was half an hour at most. Now, I was just staring at myself in the mirror, wondering if the dress was too much or too little.

          It was a traditional black dress with straps that tied at the base of my neck. The slit rode all the way up to mid-thigh, so that if I had been wearing thigh hose, people would see it. I was wearing good ol' panty hose, so needn't worry about that. I didn't decide on the shoes yet. This type of dress looked best with high heels, but Michel was about my height and I didn't want to be taller than he was. Michel wasn't the type of guy who cared about these things, but I did. Call me insecure but I did not want to feel like a giant next to him. So flats were the way to go.

          Good, I was almost ready. Now, for the makeup. How much of an effort should I make? That thought had been running through my head the entire time. I didn't want to give Michel the wrong impression and have him think I was ready to jump his bones, but I also wanted to impress him. Sexy, but not _too_ sexy. Well, the dress covered everything, but that wasn't saying much. So makeup, or no makeup?

          A little lipstick never hurt anyone right? And some eyeliner. Maybe some blush? No, no. Too much. All right. I'm ready. Time to face the music.

I squared my shoulders and took a few steps. I laughed at myself. I wasn't going to battle! I tried to ease the tension in my shoulders but a knock on the door brought it all back.

          "Serena?"

          "Yes?"

          "Are you ready?"

          "Yeah."        

          I opened the door and Michel was there. He was handsome, as always, but the tux looked incredible on him. It was tailored to fit no doubt, and it fit him _quite_ well.

          I raised my eyebrows. "Wow."

          He chuckled nervously. "You like?"

          "Yes, I like very much."

          _I like very much?_ What the hell was that? I see a gorgeous guy in a tux and my brain stops working on me. Sheesh.

          He looked at my outfit and nodded appreciatively. "You look wonderful _mon chat d'or_."

          "Thanks," I said and fought not to blush.

          "Shall we?" He offered me his arm and I took it.

          "We shall."

---

          The restaurant was some cute little French name that I had a horrible time of remembering. It was bustling with rich people: women in jewels worth more than my car and men with watches that begged to be stolen. Okay, maybe that's just me.

          Upper crust. Very exclusive. Everyone here was upper class, upper caste, upper everything. Their dogs probably have their own jewelry. I never cared much for money, but this was a little extravagant for me. No matter how much money I'll earn, I'd never get used to living in all this… opulence. So I was a little nervous. I think Michel knew this so he gently patted my hand on his arm and led me towards a nice, secluded area.

          He managed to get us in without reservations. Call me vain but that always impresses a girl. The table was outside on the patio, with a few other tables scattered about, giving just the right amount of privacy. On top of the white linen table cloth were fresh white carnations in an ornately carved glass vase. White candles stood in the middle of it all, giving light to the growing darkness. It was picture perfect. A candlelit dinner for two. How romantic.

          Michel stood behind me to push my chair in when I sat down. I managed to tuck myself in without falling down. The night was looking up.

          A waiter came with iced water and gave us the wine list.

          I raised my eyebrow. "You're going to drink?"

          Michel looked startled for a moment. It was clearly not what he expected me to say. "Uh… yes. You do not drink?"

          "Well, occasionally I do, but aren't you going to drive us back?"

          Michel chuckled, relieved. "Is that what you are worried about? Don't worry _mon chat d'or_, I hold my wine quite well."

          I eyed him suspiciously. "If you say so."

A thought occurred to me. "Though if you get drunk, can I drive you car?" I asked eagerly.

          He smiled and said nothing. Was that a yes or a no?

---

          Dinner went by without any incidents, much to my, and I think Michel's, relief. It was a perfect night. We were far enough from the city that the stars were not obscured by the city lights and visible enough that I could see the constellations. I never really thought about it, but I hadn't expected to see the same stars, the same sky here in France. It was stupid I know, but it just felt strange. I was thousands of miles away from home yet everything around me was the same. Everyone spoke a different language, but probably had the same conversations. That knowledge comforted me somewhat.

The moon was, of course, still the same. It was currently hidden behind the clouds, so the candles were a comfort. Afraid of the dark? Who, me?

          Michel was finishing up his meal of something that he explained was goose liver. Every time he ate, he savored every bite, rolling the taste in his tongue as if he would memorize it. He told me every single ingredient that the chef had used and even how to cook it just right. I didn't really pay attention to what he was saying. It's not like I would ever cook, let alone cook goose liver. It was still fascinating though. The only thing I could identify in my meal was the chicken. I wasn't even sure what part of the chicken, though judging from what Michel was eating, it was best not to find out.

          I leaned back into my chair and just watched him eat. He was cute when he ate. Now I've used many words to describe Michel- amongst them sexy, sensual, and hot as hell- so cute was something unexpected. Yet there he was, enjoying his dinner like it was the best he ever ate.

          "Finished?" I asked as he leaned back into his chair. He looked so satisfied there and so much like a sated cat that I wondered if he was going to lounge in his chair and fall asleep.

          "Yes," he said and sighed contently.

          "Good?"

          "Yes."

          "Say more than one word?"

          He got up and smiled. "Maybe."

          "So what next? Home?"

          "No, I was thinking about some walking. What do you think?" he asked.

          "Sure, what better way to walk this dinner off?" I replied, "I'm so full I can barely walk."

          "But you didn't finish your meal…" he looked at my plate wistfully, probably wondering if he should finish it.

          "Help yourself," I offered.

          "No, no," and he patted his belly, "I am full as well."

          I tried not to laugh. He was so cute! "Are you sure? I won't make fun of you for eating."

          He grinned. "Don't tempt me." Then his eyes went down the length of my body and I suddenly knew he didn't mean the food.

          Before I could react, he offered me his arm again. I looked at him quizzically. Was this his idea of a turn-on? Sex after a good meal?

          Enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath the tux, I couldn't say I disagreed.

---

          After Michel paid some tremendous sum for the meal, we went back to his car. I was a little uneasy with that. This wasn't high school, but I had the image of us having a real good time in his car. Good thing the hood of his Porsche was still down. I didn't have the nerves to do something like that out in the open, even though the street was quiet. Ah… the small blessings.

          I rolled my eyes, yes at myself. Jeez Serena. And you accuse _men_ of being horn dogs. If only the rest of my civilized companions got a peek at my thoughts now. Well, let's just say it'd be more than a peek-a-boo show.

          Michel drove us to the shopping district. By now, there were a lot less people, but still enough so the streets weren't deserted. They were mostly couples who paid more attention to each other than the stores.

          I snuggled into Michel's jacket and breathed his scent in. Yes, he had offered me his jacket and I wasn't stubborn enough to refuse. The night was getting a bit chilly and I'd rather risk a few independent-women rules than catch a cold.

          He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I snuggled right in. He rubbed his hands up and down my arm and I moved in closer to the warmth of his body. I was cold. Yeah, and Pinocchio never lied.

          We window shopped, talking nonsensically about this season's styles. It was just busy chattering, but it was comfortable. I found the perfect part of his neck to cuddle my head in. His height did have its perks. My left arm encircled his waist; it seemed silly to have it just stuck between us of course. Michel mimicked my moves and we were both just relaxed in each other's arms. Comfy.

          It was close to midnight when Michel drove us home. The car had been silent as I thought about what might happen when we entered his house.

          I've never gone home with someone who lived with me. It was weird. Usually, coming home with a guy meant that you were going to sleep with him, but I lived in the same bloody house! It was frustrating, to say the least. There were too many options. Did I just say goodnight and go back to my room? Do I pounce on him in his room? Do I wait for him to initiate something? Or should I be like Nike and just do it?

          The car stopped, temporarily breaking me away from my thoughts. No conclusions. Just let it happen. Yes.

When was the last time I had sex?

Too long to count.

God, Serena, keep your hormones in check!

          Michel opened the door for me because I was too stupefied to do anything on my own just yet. _Way to impress your date, Serena._

          The moon was shining brightly now, enough to cast playful shadows as we walked towards the entrance. Michel offered me his hand and I took it, hoping it wasn't sweaty. That'd be such a turn-off.

          When he reached the door, he stopped.

          "What's wrong?" I asked, my voice coming a little too breathy.

          Michel did that once-over again, a quick glance that made my pulse race. How did he do that? If anyone else did that, I would've bitch-slapped them, but he made it sexy as hell.

          His hands trailed down my face, barely touching. I shivered and it wasn't from the cold.

          "You look beautiful, Serena," his voice a notch deeper.

          "You already said that," I breathed. Was it just me or was his face closer than it was a second ago?

          "Did I?" he whispered as his lips tentatively touched mine and all thoughts in my head froze.

          When I didn't pull back, he leaned closer, pressing his lips harder against mine. The kiss was gentle at first, his hands holding my face like he was afraid it would break. His tongue edged my lower lip, asking for an invitation inside.

          I opened and the kiss went deeper. It was all tongues and exploring as he pushed me against the door and I was too dazed to complain about the pain. His body was pressed so hard against mine that I felt every inch of him. His hands weren't on my face now and neither was mine. Our hands were exploring each other's bodies; though not bold enough yet to touch the delicate places.

          I felt his jaw work, as if he were using all his muscles to get as deep and as hard as possible. Finally, the excitement was too much to handle. We had to stop or get naked and I wasn't about to do that right outside the front door.

          I think we broke off the kiss at the same time. I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing too fast for someone who hadn't been running a mile a minute. I watched the pulse on his neck jump and knew he felt the same thing. I fought the urge to nuzzle his neck just yet. We'd be right where we started. Not inside.

          Still breathing hard, I smiled lazily and moved to see him. His eyes were slightly glazed and I wondered if mine were like that too.

          "Door," I gasped, "Now."

          He nodded, unable to speak, only fumbling in his pocket for the keys.

          I chuckled and leaned my head against the door. Two things happened at once. My stomach-rumbling chuckle caused Michel to react, which caused things in my body to tighten.

          The second thing was this:

          I finally noticed Darien standing next to a rental car. His eyes wide and his mouth opened in shock.

          Holy shit.

          Talk about perfect timing.

---

Oh yeah. What a fabulous place to end. Much thanks to fishiee for editing this for me. huggles

Feedback?


	12. twelve

Almost Perfect 12

-Tennyo

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked as I gently tried to push myself away from Michel. For a second, his face stayed pressed against my neck and he wouldn't let go. What the hell was he doing?

"Long enough," Darien replied, his voice gruff.

Michel stayed where he was and I felt him nibble my neck. It made me react in all sorts of ways; not even Darien standing there could stop it, though I wished it did. Michel's body was still pressed in front of mine and I hid my face in his hair and whispered into his ear.

"Michel, you need to get off me. _Now_."

His arms around my waist held on tighter until I gasped. Finally, reluctantly, he let me go and straightened up. Bit by bit, I saw him regain his composure like he was picking pieces of himself back up. When he turned around to face Darien, I knew what his expression would be like: cool, calm, collected.

"You must be the infamous Darien Rehnquist," Michel said, his French accent thicker than ever.

Before I could stop him, he strode towards Darien and offered his hand as if they were old friends. I wasn't fooled. The tension hung thick in the air, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that's just me.

"Uh… yes," Darien replied, shaking Michel's hand, looking confused. "I'm sorry, did you just say infamous?"

"Yes," Michel replied as if that was a normal thing to say to someone you just met.

"What do you mean by it?"

"I mean nothing; I am merely stating the truth."

Darien glanced at me quizzically, unsure of Michel.

"Come," Michel directed Darien towards the cabin, "You must be tired from your travels. It is late. Stay the night and we will talk in the morning."

Darien refused to budge for a moment then thought better of it. It was stupid to have come all this way and go right back.

Darien nodded in assent and allowed Michel to lead him towards the door. I stepped away from the doorway, holding my breath, careful not to allow any accidental brushes of clothing, hands, or body. I just didn't need to be touched right now, by either of them.

From the looks of it, that didn't seem to be a problem for Darien. He walked right past me like I didn't exist. Only the stiffness of his shoulders told me otherwise. Glad to see he wasn't indifferent. Then again, anger wouldn't have been one of my top choices for meeting Darien after one of our longest times apart.

I felt guilty. I wasn't sure why, but I felt like I've been caught cheating, which wasn't true. Darien and I weren't dating. So what was he so pissed about? And why was I feeling the guilt seep into my bones? That, ladies and gentlemen, is the thirty-six thousand dollar question and I didn't get my paycheck yet.

Michel came next and tried to reassure me with a brush of fingertips. I wouldn't let myself give into that feeling though; it felt like I'd truly be cheating behind Darien's back- even thought I wasn't. Mustn't forget to reiterate that.

Michel smiled that mysterious smile and trailed the back of his fingers down my cheek. I refused to lean in. I refused.

My body shuddered involuntarily and Michel grinned, confident. Dammit! Darien was in the living room waiting for us. I was a mature adult, not a hormone-driven school girl! I let that thought sink in, repeating it in my head until my heart rate slowed and I looked at Michel with calm eyes.

He stopped caressing my face and smiled again, but it was different this time, his eyes filled with that old sorrow I thought I had wiped away.

He dropped his hand abruptly and turned to walk in. "Let us retire for the night, Serena. The night is growing old," his voice sounded tired, "Or maybe it is only me that is growing old."

Michel walked in without waiting for a response, giving me his back, and I felt a part of me break. I had no idea how to reply to that, so I said nothing and walked in behind him. As I closed the door behind me, the two men stared at me from the living room and I suddenly felt trapped.

I put my arms behind me and leaned against them on the door. Here, the lights weren't turned on and that made me feel a little better. The darkness offered me comfort, as if I wished hard enough, I could simply disappear. That sounded like a good idea right now, except I had flown halfway across the world to run away from Darien and he had flown the same distance to find me. He deserved better than that.

"So… uh," I cleared my throat, "What brings you here, Darien?"

There. I spoke first.

"I was looking for you," he said softly.

Damn it! That didn't make me feel any better. If anything, it made me feel worse. I was ready for a fight, sort of. I was sooo not prepared for him going soft on me.

"What for?" I asked with bitterness dripping down my throat, "You're the one that walked out on me."

Anger. Anger was good. I had plenty of that to throw around.

"Serena…" he took two steps and reached his hand towards me. I held my hand out; the universal sign that meant stop or the shit will hit the fan real soon.

"You found me, Darien. Now what?"

He dropped his hand and I saw a bit of anger in his eyes. "I didn't come here to fight Serena, but if that's what you want, then I have no problem with it."

"Then what did you come here for Darien? It certainly isn't to make nice-nice."

"What makes you think I'm not here to make "nice-nice" as you so eloquently put it?"

"You didn't call," I said, my voice coming out far more delicate than I wanted it to. Why is it that whenever I tried to hide, I ended up more exposed, more vulnerable than before?

Darien's face softened and he looked helpless standing there. He was always the first to let go of his anger, always the first to rationalize and talk it out while I clung to my rage and let it consume me.

"I- I did try to call," he said nervously, "But I never knew what to say. So… I hung up."

I glanced at Michel, who I forgot was there for a while. "Is this true?"

Michel's face was the blankest I've ever seen it in and I hated it. "There have been some calls with no reply, yes."

My attention focused on him now. "Why didn't you tell me? How many times did this happen? How come I didn't know?"

Michel walked towards me until he was even with Darien. "_Mon chat d'or, mon chat d'or_," he said, "I see accusation in your eyes and I do not understand why? The empty calls came when you were locked up in your room. I did not think to disturb you. Even if I did, to what purpose would it have been? You get hang-ups all the time, do you not?"

I nodded and shook my head at once. "Sorry. You're right, Michel. I'm sorry. I have no right to blame any of this on you when you have been nothing but a gentleman."

Michel nodded, accepting my apology I think. "It is getting late. I am in need of sleep," he said as he walked towards his bedroom. "I would suggest the same for the two of you."

With that, he left us standing in his living room. When I heard his door close, the silence seemed louder all of a sudden. I felt my pulse beating in my throat. Was this what a rabbit felt? Its heart jumping in its throat when it knew the predator has spotted it? Too late for escape. Too late for anything.

Darien cleared his throat and I realized I'd been spacing out. He was standing too close, invading the hell out of my personal space.

"I need to get my stuff from the car."

I nodded; a little too quickly, a little too dumbfounded, and stepped aside.

Darien opened the door. As he stepped through it, I caught a scent of his cologne and underneath that, the smell of _him_. It didn't make my insides tighten, rather, it made my insides weep.

Quickly, I ran to my room before my mind could make anything of that feeling, of the terrible feeling in my stomach that Darien might be lost to me forever.

It came as no surprise that sleep did not overtake me as easily as it usually did. The house was quiet as I concentrated on hearing something, anything. There was always a very low humming noise that you hear when everything around you was as still as night. I was hearing that now. As a child, I always thought it was the sound of air when everything else was quiet, that it was the air's chance to come alive during the late hours of the night or the early hours before the sun rose because everything else drowned it out the rest of the time.

Now, I knew that wasn't the case. The noise was actually the flow of blood in your head. Sometimes, if you concentrated enough, you can hear it. It's actually really soothing, like the sound of a running river, lulling me to sleep…

I dreamt I was flying. The fact that I was naked didn't seem to bother me much; the soft, white, giant wings at my back were protection enough.

I was going up, up, racing towards the clouds. The feel of wind through my hair, through my wings, had never felt better. I felt free, so free. If only I could do this forever…!

But a voice was calling me, calling me to come back down. I ignored it. The sensation of flying was far too intoxicating to give up! I ascended higher and higher, drowning out the voice that kept calling me still. I've always wanted to know what the feel of clouds would be like and I would not let this opportunity pass!

I hesitated. The voice was urgent. I looked down in the direction of the voice and couldn't see the owner of it. I was too high up to see the tiny figure and was so close to the fluffy clouds.

I reached towards the nearest cloud and brushed it with my fingertips. I thought I could grab a handful of it like cotton balls, but my fingers came through wet. It was cold.

The wings at my back continued to beat as if it had a life of its own. The force of it pushed the wind against my hair, causing it to tickle my back until I shivered.

A memory stirred, but it was too far away to do any good.

The voice was louder now, but it was impossible because I was supposed to be too far away to hear. But I heard it. The voice belonged to a male and he was calling my name.

I squinted at the figure that I was still too far to see. Later… I could fly later… Who was calling me? What could be so urgent?

I flew down slowly, trying to savor the feel of flying. As I got closer to the ground, the figure got bigger, but I still couldn't see who it was. Some trick of the light caused his face to be obscured by the darkness. Of course, it was night. The only light came from the moon, which was currently covered by clouds.

My wings kept me in mid-air as I idled there, unsure of what to do. Finally, the clouds uncovered the glorious light of the moon and I was engulfed in its elegance. My wings stopped beating. I had a second to stare in awe at the beauty of moon, but soon realized that my wings hadn't stopped beating, they were gone!

I had a second to panic, a second to scream wordlessly before I plunged towards the earth.

I woke up, panting, wide awake. It was so close. I had pulled away from the dream before my body truly collided with the ground. Someone told me dying in your dreams meant dying for real. I had scoffed at the idea, but now I wasn't so sure.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and my chest, sliding down when each became a droplet. I breathed in, out, in, out. What a freaky-ass dream. I sat up and tossed the sheets aside, letting the air cool my nerves. It was still dark out, the chilly breeze blowing through the opened window. The moon was out, chasing away the darkness that man never got over being afraid of.

I never had such a vivid dream before. What the hell did it mean? I remembered a flash of eyes, familiar eyes. I tried to remember more, but the more I tried, the fuzzier the dream became until all I remembered was the excitement of flying and strangely enough, the amazing sensation of falling.

Sheesh. Even my dreams won't give me straight answers.

The next morning, I woke up with a bunch of flowers next to my bed. Roses—the color of soft peach. I was so far gone that I wondered for a second if I was sick or not. After all, when else does a loner like me receive flowers unless I was on my death bed?

All right. So I'm exaggerating. Maybe. A little.

I touched the roses that were in a crystal vase I've never seen before. It was shaped like the ferocity of ocean waves, forever reaching up to touch the sky, but never quite getting there.

I sat up and gathered the vase in my lap, stroking the petals as I did so. They were so soft, like the cheeks of a newborn baby. The smell of roses, I think, could never be bottled up. Manufacturers would try, but no ingredient can capture the scent of nature. The best roses always smelled like rain, as if it had just been picked right out of a storm. There was, of course, that underlying smell of the rose itself, something that I couldn't possibly describe in words.

I sighed and smiled contently. This was how I always imagined it, waking up to a roomful of roses. Of course, a dozen roses do not really constitute a roomful, but it was one of my top choices of waking up to the smell of roses. And that's saying something, knowing how much I hated waking up in the first place.

As I shuffled my feet to get into a more comfortable position, I knocked into something I had not realized was there before. It was gift wrapped in silver paper that gleamed from the sunlight streaming in through the windows. I didn't even know the curtains were opened.

Quickly, I grappled the little note card attached to the overwhelming amount of ribbons.

_'Happy Birthday.'_

Birthday? It was my birthday today? But wait, that's not until- Oh.

I looked at the handwriting again and confirmed what I already knew. Darien gave it to me, of course. It's not like I told Michel when my birthday was; the thought just never occurred to me.

Hm. Was that why Darien's here? To give me my present?

For a brief moment, I remembered the promise we made to each other when we were little. Once, he couldn't come to my birthday party for some reason. It wasn't until later that I found out he had broken his leg, but I was miserable for my entire party. There's even a picture of me in the living room of my parents' house with a stupid little frown. I was so mad that he wasn't there. Best friends are always supposed to come to your birthday parties. Heck, they should be the first ones at the door.

I smiled at that thought. What a stupid thing to be pissed about; but Darien made it up to me the next day as he wobbled to my door. He was sorry he didn't have any presents, but promised he'll never miss my birthday again. And he hasn't ever since.

"I see you've found your present," said Darien. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

"Yes," I turned to face him and nodded, smiling.

"Aren't you going to open it? Find out what it is?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Darien sighed. "I think I know too well."

A crack appeared on an iceberg, threatening to destroy its beauty to pieces. That's what it felt like, when I froze for a moment and all that warm feeling started to melt away.

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, clinging on to that cozy feeling.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" I turned away.

Darien looked to the side, irritated. "You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. I came here because my editor told me to, so you can wipe out any silly notion you might have had about that. He wants me here to look into the heat wave that's been killing people in France. Haven't heard of it? I'm not surprised. You never watch the news. No. Instead, you come here, to this "city of romance" to find some guy to fall madly in love with. Is that what you're using Michel for?"

"Leave Michel out of this. Is that why you came all the way out here? Just so you can berate me?" I murmured.

"No. I came out here specifically to deliver your present on your birthday. If it came later or not at all, you would've held it against me in some way. I know you Serena. Even if we were in a middle of a fight like we are now, you'd use that against me; you'd go from a missing present to a missing concern. Well I won't have any of it. I won't let you squeeze your way out this time. We're going to face this, you and I. No more running; no more cotton balls to stick into your eardrum of reality.

"And I see you still haven't answered my question, have you? After all that, you just want to pick out the words you want to hear. Isn't that how it's always been? Choosing whatever fits into this twisted little world you've set up for yourself? I used to admire you, Serena. In fact, I used to be in love with you. More to the point, I still am!"

"Wh-What?"

"Oh, don't give me that look. That shocked expression. I already know what you're thinking; you're thinking it's going to be like one of those neatly-packed stories. The guy confesses his undying love for his best friend, who was completely unaware of the fact, but immediately falls in love with him afterwards. They find out that they were perfect for each other, that the love of their lives was right under their noses, and they live happily ever after!"

"What! I-"

"Forget it, Serena. That's not the way real life works all right? No relationship works out like some demented little love story. Do you really think this thing with you and Michel is going to work? You're going to move to Paris? He'll move to New York? Or did you think it was just going to be a little romp in the sack? You'll leave him after two months of paradise, then you'll settle with me, the best friend who is not mysterious at all, who you know inside and out, who you think will never give you the excitement that he'll give you. Well, it won't work that way! Not with me! I won't be settled!"

"But, Dar-"

"No! Let me finish this. I never knew I felt like this, not in so many words. Then when you left to chase your dreams, I realized how much you store in those dreams. I admired you for that, Serena. Everyone grows cynical with age, but you never gave up on your dreams, even though people might have called you childish or foolish at times. We are complete opposites, Serena. Those kinds of relationships either go horribly wrong or wonderfully right. I thought ours was going to be the latter, but when you- when you left me…!"

Darien sobbed, without a sound, and slowly slid towards the floor. He gripped his hair tightly, as if he were trying to pull weeds out.

"Darien! I didn't leave you! I'm here to write a story and then I'm going back!"

"That's not what I'm talking about! That's not what I'm talking about and you know it! We were in a middle of a fight and you simply left!"

"It was an opportunity of a lifetime!"

"No it wasn't! You could've come here anytime you wanted! If not on your writer's salary, then your parents would've been more than happy to send their only daughter on her dream vacation. It was an EXCUSE! You always run from every single problem you've ever had about yourself, because it's not about me, it's about you! You have the courage to chase your dreams, but you don't have the courage to face yourself!"

"Darien…"

"And me! That's what I admired about you! I didn't know it at the time, but that's exactly what makes me love you, even now when I'm telling you all the truth you've never wanted to hear. Being a reporter… I've seen all the ugliness this world has to offer and I like it," he said ferociously, "I revel in chaos. Even more, I love the way our world has attempted and failed to put it in order. That's what you do, Serena. You've organized our lives into paragraphs and chapters! We see it right before our very eyes, something we could never have a chance of living. You've always thought the opposite haven't you? That you've let your imagination run wild? There's nothing wild about your writing, Serena. You're a control-freak. You've compartmentalized better, alternate versions of our hectic world into neat little bindings, while I've splashed them on the front page news. You're the opposite of what you think you are, and I'm the opposite of what I think I am. Isn't that funny, Serena? Isn't that hilarious? It was always a mystery for everyone. How did stoic Darien end up best friends with absent-minded Serena? We're attracted to each other because one is what the other strives to be! Isn't that a laugh? I'm sure life is laughing at us in the face right now; the irony of it all!"

Darien laughed and cried. I couldn't tell which, or maybe it was both. He rubbed his eyes, stretched his face, pulled his hair. It hurt so much because I couldn't hear a thing. He was containing his chaos inside of him, much like, I guess, what he'd been doing his whole life. His body started shaking; the turmoil needed some way to get out. He was hardly the type to cry over nothing. Darien was always in control, always ready to let his anger go because none of it mattered to him. Why was he crying now? What made this fight so different from the rest?

I felt helpless, sitting there, not knowing what to do. If this was anyone else, anybody besides Darien, then I'd ask Darien for advice. He had a real knack for figuring out a solution to an intangible mess. What did he do with it?

I was terrified. I wished I could disappear for real this time, but I didn't really want to wish that. I didn't want to leave Darien alone because he had never left me alone. I was afraid of losing him, but I couldn't expect him to stay with me like this forever. Love was about making exceptions and I was tired of running, tired of living in a world where I was its sole occupant.

Well. Man didn't get anywhere by hiding inside a cave. I flung the blanket aside and reached for him.

"Darien…" I gathered him in my arms and gently rubbed his back. "Shh… it's all right. It's all right."

We stayed that way for a while, even though my back started to cramp, until Darien stopped shaking and I just held him quietly. It was weird, how our roles have reversed and according to him, much more than I ever thought. Was it true, what he said? I shook my head. Never mind that. I'd save it for later, much later.

Just as my back was seriously protesting, Darien shoved me away—and not too gently either. He stood up quickly and roughly wiped his tears away.

"Forget that. Never you mind that," he said abruptly, standing steadily once again, "Don't make it more than it actually is. It's just work-related stress. I don't want you to make it into a whole big episode that you always end up doing. This is the second time in my life that I've cried, and it was always with you. Why won't you chew on _that _for a while?"

He left. This time, I didn't even have a chance to run away; he was doing that very well on his own.

I didn't move when I heard him and his luggage clambering downstairs. I didn't move when he angrily stormed out and slammed the door shut behind him. I didn't move until Michel came, saw tears silently falling down, and gathered me in his arms, much like I did with Darien.

_Feedback? Constructive criticism is even better._

_WISE up! If it isn't too much trouble, please answer these questions to help improve this story:_

_1) Were there any parts that were confusing? Needed more elaboration?_

_2) Do you understand the point I'm trying to make about fantasy and reality?_

_Thanks for _


	13. The Forest of Words

"Eh hem, excuse me."

What?

"Don't you think it's a little unfair for Michel?"

Uh…no?

"Of course it is! At this point, I'm obviously going to have a huge revelation and realize that Darien is right about everything, apologize to him, and we'll live happily ever after."

Damn girl, you _are_ deranged.

"What! Only because you made me that way."

Calm down chica. So what do you want? You want to get with Michel? Is that it? Come on, he's _French_. When was the last time the French won a war on their own?

"With…Napoleon, in the early 1800s?"

Exactly.

"You're going to penalize a fellow just because his country hasn't won a war in two hundred years?"

Two hundred years is a long time.

"You're so shallow!"

And you like Michel for his charming personality.

"He-he is charming!"

Oh, please. He has mood swings every two minutes.

"Well, they say that characters are generally a reflection of the many facets of the writer's personality."

You're such a sweet-talker.

"All right, all right. I'm just saying. Michel is such a nice guy and it'd be mighty unfair if I ditched him for Darien. I know Darien's hot and everything, but come on!"

Do you have any idea what you're saying?

"You mean what _you're _saying?"

Oh shut up. I'll think of something.

"Oh and one more—"

-Quit while you're ahead, before I delete you out of existence!

"Sorry."

-

Under stressful situations, it is customary for me to practice yoga. Yoga mats are recommended, but any smooth surface is fine. Given the conditions, nauseous aromatic candles are not recommended because… well, they're nauseating.

"What are you doing?" Michel asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Wide warrior."

"Um. Which is?"

"What I'm doing right now."

"Serena. Why won't we—"

"Shh! I need absolute silence! It is an exercise to stretch the thigh and arm muscles simultaneously." I explained as I breathed deeply. Inhale through nose, exhale though mouth. Think of the beach, white foam rolling towards the sand, the smell of saltwater, the setting sun casting dancing shadows everywhere…

"How long are you going to stay in that position?"

I glared at him, which is not good for my inner peace. "Until I'm done."

"What's this position now?" he asked as I stretched my body into a snake-like position.

"Cobra."

"How long are you—"

"What do you want!" I exclaimed, agitated, and stood up abruptly.

Michel chuckled. "I want your attention, _mon chat d'or_."

"You have it," I replied as I moved the couch in his living room back to its original position. The setting sun cast orange shadows through the glass panes, making everything look surreal. God, France was beautiful.

"We need to talk."

Uh, oh. The four most dreadful words anyone in a relationship hates to hear. Good thing I wasn't in one.

"'Bout what?"

"About us, about you, about Darien…"

"What do you have to say about Darien? You barely spoke two sentences to him!"

"Ah, _mon chat d'or_, here is the problem of being a late sleeper."

I gasped. "What! You guys were sneaking off, talking behind my back!" I was astounded.

Michel grew impatient, which was a surprise. Whatever they talked about couldn't have been good. "First, we were in the kitchen, within hearing distance if _someone_ didn't sleep like a rock. Second, we weren't even talking about you."

"Oh." He sure knew how to deflate a girl's ego.

"Well we were talking about you…indirectly."

"My heart is a-flutter with excitement," I said in a monotonous tone. I slumped down on the cream colored couch and tucked my knees into my chest. Michel joined me and put his arm across my shoulders. I automatically leaned in and tried to tuck my head against the crook of his neck, but the lack of height difference made it…difficult. I gave up and settled against the arm of the couch.

"So what did you want to talk to me about that was so important?"

"Serena, have you written a page since you've been here?"

"Well…no, but—"

"Have you thought why this was happening?"  
"Well, the first two weeks is supposed to be my vacation…"

"I'm not talking about that, Serena. When you locked yourself up in your room, you said you were writing. But I saw that empty screen. Something has been bothering you. At first, I thought you had to adjust to being in a new country, in a new house, but it's been over two weeks and you have not written that much more. Then I thought maybe you had some problems from home you did not want to talk about. But ahh… yesterday, Darien came and everything… clicked."

"Wh-What do you mean?" I asked uncertainly. I have a horribly habit of scratching my neck in uncomfortable situations, so my neck was getting a good scratching right now. Or would that be bad?

"You love him, Serena. At first, I was angry because I thought you were using me to forget him, but from the brief moments I've seen you two together, it occurred to me that you might not know you love him at all," Michel said calmly as he looked at me through his piercing gaze. What happened to making them dumb and beautiful?

"Well, we've been best friends since forever. It would almost be impossible at this point for us to have that kind of feelings for each other."

"But that is not the case no? Were you surprised when Darien told you he loved you?"

"Yeah… no… I don't know! Stop confusing me!"

"I am not confusing you _mon chat d'or_, you are confusing yourself."

"Look Michel. You're one of my favorite people right now. Psychoanalyzing me is going to change that."

"I care more about you than my personal standing with you. You're an incredible woman, Serena, but for the short time we've been together, it seems as if you were only showing a small part of yourself, the part that you want people to see. I have read some of your books and I see you in them, in between the lines, in the shadow of your characters. I had no idea there were so many ways to fall in love! Yet! Yet, the underlying theme that I keep seeing in your stories, knowing you and the way you present yourself, is that hope, that wretched hope that bleeds through the pages. How can you lie to yourself so thoroughly? You live your life the way people expect you to live it. You follow your dreams, yes. But the problem is, how far have you followed them? Too far? Not enough?"

"No," I shook my head, "No! You don't know anything about me! You know this much!" I indicated with my fingers as a trail of hot tears streamed down my face. "I am living my life the way I want it to! I never asked for anything more!"

"No? What are you waiting for Serena? Are you waiting for a figment of your imagination to materialize right in front of you? Are you waiting for one of your characters to come alive, sweep you off your feet? Do you think you'll live happily ever after, waiting for nothing?"

I shook my head hopelessly and backed away from him. This couldn't be happening. It shouldn't be happening like this. Not at all. Not with him!

"Why are you doing this to me?" I gasped.

"Because I can't stand it!" he yelled for the first time. I've never seen Michel agitated before. A part of me was scared, but I wasn't sure what about. "In the few weeks that I've known you," he said calmly, "I've seen an amazing person being crippled by her own fantasies. Don't you see, Serena? If you'd stop looking, you know that what you've been searching for has been right in front of you."

He caressed my face and cupped my chin. It was meant to be comforting, but I wasn't sure for whom. Both of us? I leaned into his warmth, but it wasn't the same anymore. That feeling of reassurance was gone and I didn't know what to think.

Michel moved closer until I could feel his warm breath on my face. "Don't you see?" he whispered, "What you are looking for is not here. If you continue to look, whatever it is you find will only be a substitute, nothing more. I will not be a replacement. I will not be second in your heart. Please. Do not destroy what you had with Darien."

"I-I'm not destroying anything! He's the one that started all this! I mean if he didn't like so much about me, why did he stay friends with me?"

Michel gave me a flat look. "I know you are not a nine year old, Serena, so stop arguing like one. Does it matter who started it? And don't you know the answer to that question yourself?"

My hand touched my chest and I lowered my head, confused. It felt so… weird saying it, that I almost couldn't say it at all. "Be-Because he…loves me?" I whispered to myself. It seemed like eons ago that Darien was here, saying all the things I never wanted anyone to say. But it was true, wasn't it?

"Serena, why do you find that so hard to say? Look at yourself. You are an intelligent, beautiful woman. A successful novelist. What man in his right mind _wouldn't _love you?"

I felt a pain start to grow in my chest and clog up my throat. Why was it so hard to believe? Wasn't this the question I've asked my whole life during those lonely days and nights? I've been surrounded by love my entire life, but there was always that nagging feeling that something was missing. Family was supposed to love you, no matter what. I know I take it for granted that they love me, but the fact is they've been around when I didn't know how to eat on my own. I wanted to charm someone's socks off, someone who didn't know me from the very start so they'd have to guess how I turned out the way I did. And they'd love me, from beginning to end.

Some days, I thought the world was blind for not seeing me. Most days, like now, I was beginning to think that it was the other way around. I was the one that stayed at home and drowned myself in books and movies. I was the one that cut myself away and created my own world to live in. Only the ones who knew me the most tried to enter my world. Even then, I saw it as an intrusion. Little did I know that these bursts of reality were my sanity. I felt so blind, as if I weren't seeing myself any longer, but a replication of myself. Yes, if I were to look at myself through a window, would I pity myself? For denying myself what I always wanted and blamed the world for being so difficult to live in? _You follow your dreams, yes. But the problem is, how far have you followed them? Too far? Not enough? _If…if I had only known what I was doing to myself, that I was destroying myself so that I could create my own world… But what good is a world where I am its sole inhabitant? What good is perfection with no comparison?

"I…I never realized how…difficult it is to be my friend," I whispered. The silence was loud, thundering in my ears as if I had suddenly fallen into a void where there was no sound, no life—nothing. This must've been what the universe was like before God put something in it. Maybe it wasn't like what everyone thought; maybe He created all of this life because He wanted some noise, something to fill up the silence. Silence was unbearable. It was the companion of Loneliness. Where one lurked, there lies the other. Was I breathing? I waited a moment to hear the rush of blood in my ears, but I couldn't. I couldn't hear the static, the much smoother, lighter version of the one from television. Was my heart pumping? I couldn't hear the muffled sound of a river flowing. Was I breathing? _Was I still alive?_

Then I remembered myself and where I was. I was on the couch. In Michel's living room. I was sitting against the armchair with my legs tucked into my chest and my arms wrapped around my legs… like an upwards fetal position. Michel was sitting next to me, still looking at me intently with his startling green eyes. They looked darker now. Was it because of the light? His mood? I didn't know. I just didn't know.

How long have I been here? Michel looked at me blankly, and I realized I didn't say that out loud.

Michel leaned over to wipe something from my cheeks. I saw something wet glisten on his fingertips. When did I start to cry?

"Serena, I think it is best if you rest for a while now," he said softly.

I nodded numbly.

What else could I say?

-

The sun is at its peak, shining with a fierce tenacity at anything that dares to stand in its way. Even the vast desert, on the receiving end of its relentless beating, seems far less intimidating than the sun.

"So you think I'm intimidating eh?" a deep voice booms out of nowhere.

I glance around, startled. My blood almost runs cold, but it's too hot for even that to happen. "Wh-what?" my voice croaks like a frog's, "Who's there?"

"Weren't you talking to me?"

"You? You who? Who are you and what do you want?"

The voice chuckles heartily, much like how one would imagine Santa Claus laughing.

"So you think I'm Santa Claus now?" the voice says in amusement, "Come now! Make up your mind!"

I don't know if this is the desert playing tricks on me or if I'm really hearing voices in my head, so I start to get irritated.

"Fine. You're not intimidating at all. You sound like Santa Claus, okay? In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly go "ho, ho, ho" and reindeers come flying in to squash my puny self into the desert sand forever."

"HO! HO! HO!" the voice explodes like a cannon shot and I jump out of my skin. "I thought you wouldn't be surprised if I did that. Lucky for you, I changed my mind about the flying reindeer act at the last second."

I pick myself back up and stare daggers in every direction. "Ha-ha. Very funny. Is this what you do for kicks? Scare the hell out of poor travelers who are stupid enough to get stranded in a middle of an endless desert?"

"Actually, my dear, there has never been a traveler here, except you."

"Really? That's pretty cool."

"No actually, it's not," the voice sounds sad, "It gets awfully lonely."

I'm busy dusting sand off my arms and legs, so I pretend not to hear his gloomy voice. What does one say to console the sun?

"You don't have to say anything, honey. So what's your name, child? What brings you here to this neck of the woods?" he chuckles, "Or should I say desert?"

"My name is Serena and I think your puns are atrocious."

"Aw, come on. Cut an old fellow some slack. I'm out of practice!"

"Anyway, what's the deal here buddy? What am I doing in this forsaken desert?

"No deal at all. In fact, I was about to ask you the same thing. You've been traveling here for years, how do you not know what the deal is now?"

"What! I've been traveling here for years?" I say, astonished. "That's ridiculous. Believe me, I think I would remember being stranded in a desert and talking to the sun."

"That's the thing, honey child. He has never let you remember your journeys here and this is the first time I was allowed to speak to you."

I frown. None of this makes sense and I wonder if I've stepped into the twilight zone.

"Not quite, dear."

"Would you stop doing that! I know you haven't spoken to anyone in who knows how long, but where I come from, one does not listen to other people's thoughts!"

"Well, it's not like the humans were given the capability to do so."

"That's not my point!"

"All right, all right! I'll stop picking thoughts out of your brain."

"Good," I reply and continue my journey. I still don't know which way to go, but I figure one direction must lead me somewhere.

"Hey! Where ya going?"

"I don't know, Sun. Anywhere but here."

"Are all humans this complicated?"

"No," I smile, "Just the females. Listen, since we're buddy-buddy now, how about you do me a favor and tone down the heat a little? I can't think straight with you melting my brain into putty."

"You're a very demanding person, you know," he replies.

"Of course I know."

"How does anyone put up with you?"

"I… don't know," I say uncertainly. This bothers me, but for some reason I cannot get myself to think straight.

Sun laughs softly and I feel the pressure of the heat lessen.

"Thanks."

"No problem, girly," he says cheerfully, "You're going in the wrong direction ya know."

"That's great. Thanks. You wouldn't happen to know which way I should go, would you?"

"Of course." He says as-a-matter-of-factly, "I am Sun."

"When you're done complimenting yourself, let me know. I've been here for almost twenty minutes and my situation hasn't improved."

"How do you know it's been twenty minutes? I haven't moved."

"My wa-" I glance at my empty wrist. Ah yes, I always take my watch off before I go to sleep. "Whatever. Will you tell me or not?" I ask impatiently.

"I am to lead you," Sun replies in a cryptic tone.

"Lead and I will follow."

With that final note, I walk along the general direction that Sun is headed. It does not feel weird at all for me to be following Sun and I recall what Sun said: _You've been traveling here for years, how do you not know…?_

As the burning sand scorches the soles of my delicate city feet, I have many unanswered questions. I think about asking Sun, but I have a feeling that he is not allowed to answer questions of this nature. I briefly wonder if this is what Moses felt like as he led the people across the vast desert with only the sun and the moon as light and guidance. I do not feel like I am on any kind of pilgrimage, but the weary sensation of heading toward the unknown is like a constant nagging in the pit of my stomach. The gentle wind sweeps some sand in little swirls and I laugh as it tickles my bare legs. It is wrong to have those kinds of thoughts in a place like this. Yes, the desert is barren of life, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. The mountains of sand remind me of the pure white snow before people and cars trample on it. Sometimes I think the world would be a better place without people, but if there were no people in it, who would notice such things?

"We're heeeere!" Sun announces musically.

I'm probably in a better mood because I turn on the charm and smile at him. "Thanks for bringing me, Sun. I really appreciate it."

"Just doing my job, doll face," he says briskly.

"Don't call me that."

Sun chuckles and it gets cooler as he moves away.

There is a wooden sign that says, "Welcome to the Forest of Words."

The name is confusing because the forest in question looks like the average forest, with trees, shrubs, and undergrowth.

"Despicable," a voice spits out, "Only you humans would think to call this remarkable forest _average_. If you were smart enough to read the sign, it clearly says that this is a forest of _words_. I doubt there's forest like that on earth!"

I look around and am startled to see no one. Where did that voice come from?

"Down here kiddo!" he shouts, then he mutters, "Knew it. Dumb as an ox, too."

"Hey! I'm not dumb as an ox!"

"Sure, whatever you say," the short man says in a disbelieving tone.

His face looks familiar but I cannot place where I've seen him before. Didn't Sun say I wasn't allowed to remember anything? I crouch on the balls of my feet to examine the bulge of his forehead, the wider space between his eyes…how is entire head seems so strange, like someone had squished it until his eyes were about to pop out.

"Whatcha lookin' at? Never seen an _Australopithecus afarensis _before?"

"An austra-what?"

"You heard me," he doesn't bother to mumble this time, "—Dumb as a rock—I'm what your scientists currently think is the-"

"-Common ancestor of all hominids! Oh my God! You're Lucy!"

Lucy gives me a flat look, which is quite startling with that forehead and those eyes of his. "I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any worse. Lucy? Do I look female to you?"

"Well…" I am embarrassed of my blunder. A former medical student should not blurt out mistakes like that. "What I mean is, you are of Lucy's species."

"Yay," not-Lucy says, though unimpressed, "The human finally gets something right."

I do not answer him as I am still looking at his strange features. I move my hand to touch his face and I am surprised that he does not move. His eyes show boredom. As I feel the rough skin over the thicker bone structure, I ask, "So what am I doing here and why are you wearing a tux?"

"I can't answer that. Even if I did, I don't think you would understand it. Pfft, and I thought evolution meant that humans would be getting _smarter_, not _dumber_."

I stand up and smile maliciously when he has to strain to look up. Not-Lucy looks at me reproachfully. "All right," he says, "So the human has the last laugh." He paused like he was going to say something more but thought better of it. Was that resentment I saw flicker across his face? Naw. Must be my imagination.

"The tux is part of the perks," he continues, "As part of my job as gate keeper."

"Gate keeper? Of what? The Forest of Words? Isn't it silly to be guarding a forest?"

"Wrong, human. This is the _Forest of Words_," he says with a quiet respect, "As a writer, I would think you would realize the value of words."

"Well yeah they're powerful, but—"

"And I don't think it would be silly at all for you humans to protect your forests. All you do is cut it down. I would think in the 3 million years since my kind has been extinct, you _homo sapiens_ would figure out that the trees are the _fountainheads of life_. Of course, you self-destructive beings don't care about that at all. In fact—"

"When was the last time you've spoken to someone?"

Not-Lucy is startled. Perhaps he is not accustomed to being interrupted for his long-winded monologues. He catches himself quickly, "In a while."

"All right, that would explain the amount of bitterness you spit out," I say impatiently, "I get it. You don't like my species, fine. You think I'm stupid, fine. The thing about my species, or at least my country, is that they squeeze concern for that kind of stuff out of you. Where I come from, it's okay to be stupid, but it's not okay to go on and on about the same thing. The problem is that I am on a tight schedule. I'm human so you can talk me to death. You were supposed to be extinct, but here you are, 3.2 million years later. I won't be."

"Ah…" he smiles for the first time, "The human has a backbone after all."

"Well," I grin, "_Homo erectus_ is part of the human family line."

He groans. "Ugh. He was right. I didn't believe it, but He said to let you pass if I liked you." He moves aside from the only path to the Forest of Words, "Enter, and experience wonders."

I am puzzled at his words, but he gives me a blank look. How wonderful can a forest get?

The path that snakes through the Forest of Words is well traveled, though not by any human being. I am no tracker, but the prints embedded in the floor of the forest looks remarkably like hooves, paws, and many others that I cannot name. If what Sun and the weird gatekeeper say is true, then I am the first human to have traversed here. That thought brings many questions to mind, but I am certain the answers are hidden deep within these woods.

The Forest of Words holds a striking resemblance to any of the few forests I have had the pleasure of passing through. At first, nothing about it appears to be out of the ordinary: tall oaks loom high overhead, at times blocking the sunlight; smaller trees are scattered about, reaching for the sky. Perhaps the most significant thing about this forest is the seemingly lack of animal life. I am wary to decide that is truly the case—I've spoken to the sun and a Neanderthal in less than a day—so I am willing to believe the animals are simply biding their time, perhaps planning to shock the poor human to death.

The only sounds that accompany my journey are the crunching of leaves beneath my bare feet and the quiet whistling of the wind through the trees. This is the only comforting thing to me, as I am still uneasy by the stillness of the woods. The forests I have traveled through were always teeming with life and noise; this one is disturbingly silent. My human instincts tell me I should run, but logic tells me that I have no where else to go. Behind me is a desert; ahead of me… well, that's what I have to find out.

I do not know how long I have been walking and I glance up to see patches of light through the crowd of leaves. It does not look like Sun has moved much. What kind of place is this, where the sun does not set? I add this to my growing list of questions, one of them being when my trek through this forest will end. My long-ago ancestor boasted of wonders in here, but I have not seen much. Am I not meant to?

As soon as my hopes dwindle, a wonderful thing finally does happen.

Leaves start to rain down in unpredictable waves, sliding through the air like graceful ballerinas. I stop in my tracks and look up, expecting bare branches, but it seems the supply of leaves is endless. It's as if someone was pushing fast forward and the leaves are fading and falling in bursts of streaming color. The path of the leaves is directed by some unpredictable wind, dancing through space to the music of the earth. They eventually seem to head toward one direction: a clearing a few steps in front of me that I did not notice before. Strange.

I run towards the clearing and am greeted by a whirlwind of paper with words written elegantly in script. Where is the paper coming from? The answer is in front of me, as piles of leaves land on the earth, blending and fading until it becomes a shade of brown. Everywhere around me, the leaves were turning into pages and pages of writing, as if they were pages being torn out of an old, enormous book.

The number of pages is endless and I strain to read them all as the rich soil bleeds words into the sheets of leaves. I catch glimpses of sentences, most of which are unknown to me. I don't know if it my vision hasn't adjusted to the light after all that time in the forest, or if Sun has the capability of spotlighting, but there is one page that attracts my attention. I walk toward the center of the clearing and the sheet of leaf has my name on it. Curious, I gently pick it up and turn it to the other side.

_Follow the path, through the trail of tracks_

_To the place you have never traveled._

_Weave your dreams, paint your tales, _

_Imagine the unimaginable. _

Well. That's interesting.

I want to keep this paper as a memento, but it shatters into a million pieces and falls to the forest floor. Recycling at its best.

The rest of the leaves are still forming into stories, falling naturally into place as the dark ink seeps through the leaves. I have a feeling that these pages are not intended for me, so I continue on my journey through the Forest of Words. Not-Lucy was right; this is amazing.

I do not walk long before I hear the thundering sound of water falling from a great height. I run toward the sound, not thinking to duck from low branches. My steps are no longer awkward; it's as if my body became liquid and I flow effortlessly through the trees.

Finally, I reach my destination.

The waterfall sprinkles water on my body as I walk closer to the pool. This is the first time I realize I am naked, but that does not bother me. The tall, untamed grass tickles my legs while I survey the area. This is my destination, I'm sure of it, yet there seems to be no one here.

The wind comes back, bringing with it the smell of freshly-made bread. I follow the scent for a few steps, until I see a cabin that is a few hundred feet away from the waterfall. I scurry towards the cliff and suddenly, the cabin is only a few steps away from me. I do not remember walking these steps, but I continue on; the sweet aroma is too enticing to ignore. I walk around the cabin to its entrance facing the waterfall. There, like a classic scene from a storybook, is the freshly baked bread sitting peacefully on a windowsill. Before I knew it, I am standing in front of the opened window, and a hand appears.

"Here," a voice says, "Have some. It was made for you."

"Thanks." I try to see who the voice belongs to, but the figure is wearing a white cloak and the more I try to see the face, the more I cannot. I help myself to a few bites of bread, wondering what I should say to this person. The hooded figure in front of me is my reason for being here, I am sure of it.

"You have not changed, Serena," the voice chuckles, "I see food can still draw you, even if you manage to catch the faintest whiff from the sweet wind."

I am too embarrassed to answer.

"Do not be embarrassed, my dear," the voice soothes, "That was done intentionally to bring you here. I'm sure you have many questions, so let's take a walk."

I nod and wait for the figure to come out of the house. We walk with each other toward a wooden bridge that connects the edges of the waterfall. The other side is teeming with cherry blossoms and the gentle wind carries some silky petals to us. I inhale deeply, hoping to keep this wonderful feeling with me forever.

"Serena, as my companions have already told you, you have been here before."

I nod quietly as we stroll steadily on the bridge.

"You always came in your dreams to escape from the reality which you found so cruel. I wanted so much to let you remember our long conversations, but it was…my responsibility, you see, to make you forget them. You hold a special place in my heart, Serena, for in your imagination is a world that could've been. A better place than the one you are living in now. I had such hopes for you, Serena, I still do, but I…" He pauses to recollect His thoughts, "When you were a child, I took such pleasure in your ideas and your innocence that I allowed your trips here to be more frequent than they should have been. That is where I made my mistake. I knew it then and I know it now. You grew too dependent of this place and you loved it here more than life on earth. I didn't want to ruin your balance, so I removed your memories, but somehow, bits and pieces of our conversations ended up in your stories, in your conversations with other people. It's like you never really forgot this place even though I wanted you to. This is, again, another mistake of mine. I did not really want you to forget, for these memories are precious to me and I did not what you to completely forget them. I did not know it then, but I always left a tiny bit, a crumb on the edge of your unconsciousness. People normally do not reach these edges, but you did. Do you realize how difficult it is to be in my position? How love makes people do things they know they shouldn't do?"

I nod silently. "But… you're God aren't you? You have the power to…" For once in my life, I am speechless. He says we had long conversations, but where is my ability to speak?

He chuckles lightly. "Yes, you can call me that. Now tell me my dear, if you look at history and the current state of things, do you believe that things should be left as they are? Do you believe life on earth is perfect?"

"Well, I-but-"

"They are not. It is not because I made some mistake or that I forgot something, but I had to make some very tough decisions. When I threw love into the equation, it was the wild card, the one thing that would make life on earth unpredictable. Love, you see, is an emotion I hold very dear. It was the one thing I wanted most to impart on my creation. I knew what would come from it, the good and the bad, but it is such a fundamental part of life that without it, humans would know no compassion. From love stems many things: hatred, passion, jealousy, compassion, pain, happiness, sadness. These emotions, I knew, when put together would cause chaos on earth. But I had to. I would have done the human race a great injustice if I gave them intellect without love. What is achievement without someone to share it with? What is peace without war? What is success without failure? These were the questions I answered. To create a balance, there had to be the good and the bad. And love is the thing that blurs those lines because there is no real distinction."

We stop at the middle of the bridge and watch the ripples of water caused by the force of the waterfall. Light sprinkles of water tap my feet, but I do not laugh this time. The pain I felt for Him, the burden He carries while the world makes a mockery of His creations.

"Serena, you are special to me because you have realized the balance. I brought you here because I need to remind you of it now. Love puts a spin on things; the outcome is never what you expect. You've always appreciated life, but you seem to forget that now. How you live your life is determined by the choices you make. Serena my dear, I am giving you an opportunity to make a choice. My love for you is so great that I cannot bear the thought of you living with pain and death and misfortune, but my love for you is so great because of your strength. Remember your reality and your love of life."

With a sweep of His arm, He gestures toward the rows of cherry blossoms and beyond that, a field filled with bursts of colors of flowers as tall as I. His other arm stays in the direction of the waterfall.

"You have a choice."

I open my mouth to ask more questions, but I realize He is gone.

I do not know how long I have been standing here, in the middle of this bridge. My options were clear: I can cross the bridge and stay here forever, or I can dive into the waterfalls and…return to the world with all the confusion and chaos.

This is my world, the one I always wanted, the one I always thought of the in back of my mind when creating my stories. My stories always had a perfect ending because that's how I thought life ought to be. Life didn't have to be a fairytale story, but it could be better than the way it is now. People who fought over nothing, who killed over nothing. What was the point of it all? Why couldn't everyone see the bigger picture and realize that humans literally didn't have enough time to bicker over trivial things? Time should be spent on improving ourselves, making life on earth better, not worse. This, above all, is what I detest most about life on earth. The needless fighting that never stopped.

The sweet smell of cherry blossoms coaxes me to cross the bridge. I am extremely tempted to run in that magical field of tall, colorful flowers that do not exist on earth. They only exist here, away from ungrateful hands that might wrench it away from its home.

The cool spray of water reminds me of the waterfall thundering below. It reminds me of Darien and his cool composure, how he always knows how to handle himself even in the most dire of situations. Darien who always pulled me back from space and down to earth. Darien who remembered everything with precision, who never lost his cool. Darien who broke down and cried. Darien who shook with emotion. Darien who knows me better than I know myself. Darien who loves me. The way I always wanted to be loved. The way I love him. Suddenly, the decision is not so hard anymore.

I jump.

-

All right guys. Sorry for the long wait! This is my fourth shot at this chapter. I have the story going where I want it to. If you please, there are a few questions I'd like you guys to answer to improve this story:

1) Were there any parts in the story that you wanted to skim over? Or needed more elaboration?

2) Do you understand how this queer chapter ties in with the story?

3) What do you expect will happen next?

Thanks for reading! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.


	14. fourteen

Almost Perfect / 14

Tennyo

* * *

The sun cut across my vision, startling me from sleep. It took more effort than was pretty to pry my eyelids open. I rubbed my face emphatically, trying to put some life back into my cold, hardened self. I glared at the open window and the brat who opened it. The kid was lucky he was facing the window; otherwise he would've been scared out of his wits. With my bloodshot eyes and a days worth of stubble, I did not wake up gracefully. 

I tried to move my dry tongue around, feeling my lips crack as I opened my mouth. There was a bitter taste of alcohol underneath my tongue, but I couldn't make out the type. There were too many.

Clumsily, I searched for the little pack of "necessities" that airlines liked to give for long plane rides and awkwardly headed toward the bathroom. It must've been my lucky hour because the bathroom was vacant and I could have a fine old time in here without being interrupted. Wait a minute. That didn't sound quite right.

The glare of the bathroom light stabbed painfully into my vision. For a moment, I couldn't see myself in the mirror, which is just as well. When my eyes finally adjusted, I was greeted with a horrid sight. Let's just say, I was in desperate need of a shower.

Without looking at the mirror (couldn't risk scaring myself again), I turned on the faucet and made use of the items in the handy little travel bag. Maybe I ought to write the airline a thank you note for helping me look presentable at this dark hour. After feeling somewhat cleaner, I slowly looked at my reflection. Not bad, you sexy man. Of course this light is rather unflattering, but for someone who's had his heart trampled on, I looked pretty damn good.

All right. I took a deep breath and marched out to face the world. Of course I didn't get very far, I was still on an airplane and my seat was only a few feet away from the bathroom, but' you get the point.

The window was thankfully closed now, though I could've braved it after that awful glare in the washroom. The child was sitting patiently in his seat with his hands folded on his lap, looking every bit the spitting image of perfection. His mother would've been proud.

He was looking intently at me, as if he had been waiting for my return.

"Sorry for waking you, sir," the child said in what Serena would call a "delightfully British accent." The thought of her still brought a slight ache to my chest but it felt distant like some forgotten dream. The distance between me and her was increasing by the minute, but that wasn't why the pain didn't hurt as much. I followed her to France to tell her how I felt and that was done. Of course, I told her more than I intended to, but there was nothing I could do about it now. No use crying over spilled milk and everything.

The boy looked at me expectantly and I realized I hadn't heard a single word he said. "I'm sorry," I apologized, "Can you repeat what you said? I'm not feeling myself today."

"That's all right," he replied, "I didn't say much. You had the far away look in your eyes that adults sometimes get when they're not in their right mind."

I smiled uneasily. "Very observant of you."

The boy nodded, as if that was exactly what he expected me to say. "I was apologizing for waking you, sir. I often like to watch the sunrise, especially when we're so much closer to the heavens than normal."

I eased into my chair and faced him. "You travel often then?"

"Not really, my parents send me to a private school in France and I return to England during vacations. I don't get much of those," he paused and added as an afterthought, "unfortunately."

I nodded my head absently, not sure why I was doing so but it felt appropriate.

"What seems to be troubling you, sir?" the boy asked. The term "sir" rang oddly in my ears. I was rarely addressed that way though it seemed perfectly natural for the boy to be saying it. If only American children were this polite.

"Please," I insisted, "call me Darien."

The boy nodded, pleased apparently. "Then you may call me Gabriel."

Again, I felt my head bob up and down. What the hell was wrong with me? Even after all that drinking I must've had, I usually ticked better than this.

Frustrated, I closed my eyes and leaned back against my seat. That was better. The throbbing pain in my head was lighter now, more manageable. When I opened my eyes, Gabriel was still patiently waiting for me. Right. He wants to know what's wrong with me. Everything. Where to start? Where to begin? Isn't there some rule against spilling your heart out to a child that you've just met on a plane?

"It's all right," he consoled, "Adults are wary against telling their true feelings. Sometimes, they think it protects them from feeling any worse than they already do, but that's not really true. Have you ever been trapped in an elevator?"

"Well' no," I hesitated. Where was he going with this?

"Well I have," he informed. "It's an awful feeling to have, being trapped. For however long you're stuck there, there's always that nagging thought that taunts you to no end: no matter who you are, no matter how much you've accomplished, you are still trapped in the elevator. Your friends can't help you and neither will your name nor your money. The only obstacle between you and death is a grossly overweight repairman whose family could only afford to send him to vocational school or he was too incompetent or too lazy to aspire for anything further. Yet there you have it. A man who will be nothing, who will never have his name in the papers, who will never be noticed by anyone important'he is your savior."

"That's' that's very'" I stuttered, "That's putting things into perspective."

"Yes," he continued, "In that moment, when you realize it'll be such a waste of talent for you to be crushed by a simple box of metal, you'll wish you had told everyone you've loved that you love them and done everything you've always wanted to do."

"Well'yes. I'I'd expect that's what I would think," I muttered.

Wow. That's deep stuff, especially coming from someone who was probably a third of my age. I fiddled with the seat adjustment lever and pushed it back. Ah'that was better. Someone behind me cleared his throat unappreciatively, but I pretended not to hear. I waved an attendant over, feeling just the right awful mood to douse myself with more drink. This boy'Gabriel. Just when I was feeling better, ready to forget anything ever happened, he crams all this life-death-gotta-appreciate-everything stuff down my throat. I really needed a drink. Or two. Or three. Yeah. Three sounded terrific.

"What can I get you?" the stewardess smiled kindly.

Before I could blurt out a list of knock-out drinks, Gabriel placed a hand on my arm and interjected, "He would like a cup of tea please."

The stewardess looked at me quizzically. I was too shocked to say anything coherent, so I didn't say anything at all. I nodded my head stupidly, much like what I've been doing this entire trip, and smiled graciously when the flight attendant returned with a cup of hot tea.

I adjusted my seat again so I could drink this distastefully non-alcoholic substance. "Yay," I muttered grumpily, "Tea. Just what the doctor ordered."

"Pardon?" the boy inquired.

I cleared my throat. "Nothing, nothing."

Amazingly enough, the steam managed to clear my head and I felt a lot better. Enough to respond to a philosophical rhetoric from a young, young boy? Surely not.

"Feeling better?"

I nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"That's what my nanny gives me when I don't feel very well."

"Your'nanny." I looked around, "Is she with you?"

"No, 'fraid not. She stays in France with her family."

"You're traveling alone?" I asked, bewildered.

"Well yes."

"Don't your parents feel'worried for sending you off on your own?"

The boy shook his head. "No. I doubt they feel much of anything. I am their money bag, their investment. Investments don't need' protection," he trailed off.

There was a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was certain Gabriel was about to say "affection," but decided against it at the last minute. For all his psychological blabbering, he was doing the same thing he accused adults of doing: putting on a mask. The problem was, did that make anyone tougher, harder to break? Reflecting at the unstable mentality I was just in, I highly doubted it.

For the first time, I examined Gabriel more closely. On the surface, he looked every bit the pristine, high-class, high-everything golden child. His short, chestnut brown hair was combed to the side and he was dressed in a white, button-up shirt and forest green trousers'both neatly pressed. His black shoes were polished so perfectly that had there been more light, I would've been able to seen my reflection in it.

A story was forming in my head. The rich, neglected, brilliant child who fought to be better than anyone else to impress his un-impressible parents. The future CEOs of the world. This kid had a bright future, but his heart' Who knows how this kind of story turned out?

I had turned away, pretending to finish my tea because I was afraid Gabriel would be too smart and figure out what I was assessing. It was stereotyping to the fullest, but I was willing to bet most of it were true.

I turned back, placing the empty cup on the mini table. "I'll tell you what," I said, "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."

"But I have no story to tell," the boy insisted innocently.

I gave him a flat look.

He grumbled. "All right."

Amazingly, Gabriel and I spoke for the rest of the trip. Yes, all four hours of it. I learned a great deal about him and he learned quite a bit about me. How could anyone keep a conversation for so long, especially with a nine-year-old who is supposed to have a short attention span? I've heard of precocious children but this was ridiculous.

When it finally occurred to me that this was a plane bounded for JFK international airport in New York, I asked him, as calmly as I could, if he was on the right plane.

"Incidentally," he responded, "I've 'mistakenly' gotten on the _wrong_ plane."

Before I panicked and assumed he was staging some run-away scheme to attract some attention from his parents (I am _such _a positive thinker), he assured me he had an uncle living in Manhattan and he would get his uncle to convince his parents to let him stay. Gabriel wanted to see what the fuss about Manhattan was and his father _did _want him to be "a man of the world." The picture I painted of his family was inaccurate, thankfully. Though I was right to think his father was the sort to want his only son to be the best of the best, Gabriel knew his father had a soft spot for him and his mother "absolutely adores me."

Naturally, I offered to accompany him to his uncle's apartment. He rolled his eyes at me for being such a "fussy, over-concerned American," but I ignored that comment. He enjoyed my company, I know it. "Remember what I said," Gabriel said as we waited to pick up our baggage.

I nodded lazily. "Right, right. 'Love like that only comes once in a lifetime and you'll be sorry if you'd let her go without a glorious, knockdown fight'," I mimicked.

"God, you have an awful British accent," he cringed. I couldn't resist the urge to muss up his hair, so I did. This little twerp. I was going to miss him.

We walked out to the pick-up area, where dozens of yellow taxi-cabs were roaming back and forth. A sleek, black limousine pulled up in front of us and a chauffeur stepped out and opened the door for Gabriel.

"Woah woah," I whistled, "Someone has some bling bling."

"Shut up," he glared, "You sound like a moron."

I chuckled.

And so, those were our parting words.

We exchanged numbers, though I couldn't imagine calling him up for a midnight chat. Then again, I couldn't imagine spilling my life's sorrows to a little boy either.

On the taxi ride back to my apartment, I thought about what Gabriel said. If I were trapped in an elevator right this minute, what regrets would I have? Plenty. But the one that stood out most of all was...Serena. I would never feel remorse for bringing our friendship to the next level, but I would move heaven and earth to chase away the hurt I saw on Serena's face. Her face that turned. Her face that turned to see me when I didn't know I was there. Her face that shone with deep contentment as she basked herself in the summer sun. How could I have hurt Serena so deeply? How could I have turned that face away from me? It is said that you should never hurt the people you love. But it wasn't like that was it? It seemed like the better you knew a person, the more weapons you had to hurt them, hurt them more than a stranger could have. I hurt her because she hurt me. She hid herself from me right when I thought I would see her heart open to me. But she hides. And she hides. She cannot run away forever. Not from me.

I want to chase away the hurt look on her face. But I can't. How could I? I was the one that put it there.

Silent tears were streaming down my face, but I didn't move to wipe them away. They were a sign of my love, my sanity. I needed them now, more than ever, to keep me safe.

November was a quiet month. The office was filled with soft murmurs and light taps as if everyone was getting ready to hibernate. I didn't like these sorts of days; we had to dig deeper than usual to get any kind of sensational story. Even then, it wasn't that sensational. I almost wished someone important would die so we could clamor about and get their life stories. I liked learning about their past, about the trials and tribulations that molded these public figures to life. It was always interesting to put the pieces of a person's life together, as if we had all been there to witness their growth. Amazing what words could do.

Right now, I was working on a piece about a meeting some important head of state had with another head of state. It was so boring I was ready to cry. Maybe I shouldn't have turned that editorial job down. My July 4th article made the mark and my editor suggested I write some op-eds. I tried it out a few times, but I realized it was difficult to have an opinion about everything. So I stopped. It didn't matter anyway. The reason I wrote that July 4th article with a "subtle touch of color" as my editor put it, was because of Serena. And she wasn't here anymore. The last I checked, she was still schmoozing in France with what's-his-face. _Michel_. Right.

At last, it was time to leave! Quickly, I shoved the papers I was working on into my brief case. Then I stopped. What was the rush? There was nothing waiting for me at home.

Despondently, I gathered the rest of my belongings and trudged out of the office. What a depressing, slow, depressingly slow day.

My footsteps were heavy on the carpeted floor. Another day. Another night. I opened my apartment door and it was as empty as I had left it this morning. As I moved to close the door, I realized there was a thick packet in front of the door. Why hadn't I noticed it before? Puzzled, I picked it up. No address, no stamp. Just my name. Darien.

I set my things down and tore open the manila envelope. It was a manuscript. I glanced through the first few lines. Serena's manuscript. My heart jumped to my throat.

I couldn't do this again. I wanted to laugh and I wanted to cry. Only with Serena would I be so...torn. I remembered the nights we spent together whenever she finished a new book. She'd come over with two tubs of chocolate ice cream (our favorite) and we'd spend hours at a time going over her rewrites. She'd stay over during those times; it was like "writing boot camp." Her words, not mine. I laughed. When she was editing her second book, she made a huge fuss with the publishing company to get them to send me an extra copy. She claimed she couldn't afford an extra set and she just _had to_ go over her book with her best friend. I had nearly cried with laughter when she told me she threatened not to have it published unless they sent it.

Lucky for _her_, they complied. I couldn't imagine why. She was still new on the scene, but Serena was Serena. She could convince people that the sky was really purple. Anyway, from then on, the publishing company automatically sent me a copy. And we'd do our ritual all over again. Except this time, she wasn't here.

My eyes darted quickly through the first page and the next and the next. Nothing existed for me at that moment as my eyes greedily drank in every word. This was our story. She wrote about us. Tears pushed against the back of my eyes. I had grown very emotional these past few months. Maybe the emotion was always there, but something had unveiled it, pushed it forward. To the surface.

It was far past the wee hours of the morning before I finished. The night was soothingly quiet as I leaned back against my arm chair. Had Serena known I would read this? Naw. She probably just forgot that the publishing company sends me a copy automatically. In fact, there were several times she carried her own copy over and was surprised to see one on the coffee table. Absentminded. Quarrelsome. Sweet, sweet, Serena. The one who cried for me.

_He left. This time, I didn't even have a chance to run away; he was doing that very well on his own._

_I didn't move when I heard him and his luggage clamber down the stairs. I didn't move when he angrily stormed out and slammed the door shut behind him. I didn't move until Michel came, saw tears silently falling down, and gathered me in his arms, much like I did with Darien._

I almost sobbed in despair. Blank pages. All blank pages. Where did the rest of the story go? It wasn't supposed to end like this. Not like that. Never like that. A hundred and one rationalizations ran through my head, except one. The one I wanted to believe in most. There was such a thing as jumping to conclusions, but I couldn't expect anything else. After what I'd told her, we'd either be the worst of enemies or the best of friends. There was no other way. My stomach ached so much that it could be the former rather than the latter. But how could it be? It can't. It can't. Serena and I cannot end. We are Serena and Darien, Darien and Serena. "Hey," our friends used to say, "There comes the 'inseparables.' Can't have one without the other. It's a package, two-for-one special." We'd laugh and that would be it. But that couldn't be it. Not now, not ever.

Something was hurting my fist and I looked down to see red-tinted half moons in the palms of my hands. Clutch. Un-clutch. Clutch. Un-clutch. Unclutch! My body was stiff against my seat and I couldn't move. I tried to move my head but it wouldn't budge. My spine croaked with the effort but something was preventing me. I was stuck in the elevator, trapped in a coffin, suffocating. No way in. No way out. I tried to get past this. What the hell was wrong with me? I couldn't think past the pain. Why didn't I tell everyone I loved them? What is happiness without someone to share it with? Why isn't anyone here to care?

The rushing heat like burning ants beat against my forehead. There was something' something. A faint beat against my ears, past the horrid drumming of silence. Silence, silence go away.

Don't come back, don't come back.

I need you.

I need you, Serena.

I need you to drive the silence away.

There it was again. I wasn't hallucinating. Come back, come back.

This had to be real.

4 AM. Two soft knocks on the door.

My heart stopped.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you don't mind, please answer some questions so that I may improve my writing: 

1) Did you feel connected with Darien's emotions?

2) Was there any confusion with the shift in narrative perspective?

Thanks for sticking with my story everyone. All of your encouragements helped me through this story. I couldn't have gotten as far as I did without your support. The next chapter will be the last. Thanks mucho.

AN: For some reason, gets rid of my formatting so it is unclear when there are scene changes. Sorry for the confusion folks! If you'd like, take a look at and my story will be formatted the way I intended it to be. Thanks.


	15. fifteen

Evelyn softly closed my manuscript and placed it onto her cluttered desk. We sat in her office with the morning sunlight streaming in from her open windows. A slight breeze was flowing through it and playing with our hair. Summer was almost coming to an end, but autumn, with all its colorful leaves, was coming soon.

Evelyn took off her glasses and leaned back against her black leather office chair, apparently in deep contemplation. "Well," she said, "This is certainly…different."

My face fell. I was uneasy about this latest work of mine for so many reasons. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, no," she quickly reassured me, "It's just different from what I'm used to from you."

"Are you saying I'm predictable?" I cracked a smile, trying to make light of the situation. My heart was beating unusually fast.

Evelyn gave me a calm, reassuring smile. It reminded me of a mother smiling before telling her child that the bug she just squashed wasn't going to live again. Maybe I was just in a bad mood.

"No, I'm just saying as someone who has read your work for almost ten years, I've seen the progression of your style and maturity. By far, this is the most developed and realistic writing I've seen from you yet." Evelyn cocked her head sideways and raised her eyebrow. "Almost as if you're writing from experience…"

I tried to hide my smile but I wasn't that good of a liar. "Ah…ya got me."

"Does this have anything to do with…?"

I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, sort of."

She nodded as if I simply confirmed her suspicions. She sat there staring at her desk, nodding all the while. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"That maybe you need to change your ending."

"What! Why?"

"It's too predictable! I mean she knocks on the door and they make up! Just like that! It's too perfect. Everything about your story felt pretty realistic until then. Why did you have to ruin it?"

"Wh-What!" I looked at her in disbelief. "Ruin it? That's what really happened! I mean I guess the ending does sort of fall into place, but it's not like I can change it…" My heart warmed at the thought. It felt like everything about my life was unbalanced until then, when everything seemed to fall in place. Just like it was supposed to be.

"-ello? HELLO? Serena? EARTH TO SERENA?"

My head snapped up. "Oh what? Yes, what? What were you saying?"

Evelyn shook her head and smiled. "Girl, you are gone on him aren't ya?"

I shrugged, "Maybe."

"Oh don't give me that. I can see it in your eyes. But let's not get into that before I make myself throw up."

I rolled my eyes.

"Listen, Serena. I'm really happy for the two of you, but if you really want to make this story work, you can't make it a happily-ever-after ending. You have to go all the way. I mean this is a big change for your character, for you! Think about it. When you meet someone new in your life, it's like you have to carve out a space for them in your schedule, your brain, your heart. Things like that don't happen that easily. For you and Darien, it was already set. Best friends from the start. But what happens now that he's no longer in the friend category, but in the boyfriend category. Someone that was once a like a brother is now a possible lover. In the movies, you don't see that transition. They make it look like it's an instant moment, but it's not. You get what I'm saying Serena?"

I nodded my head slowly. What she said was very true. She actually voiced some of the doubts I had about approaching Darien and taking things to the next level. But what if the timing wasn't right, or what if things didn't work out at the end? Do things go on as they were? With our Sunday brunches and Saturday night movies? Now that we're in this "couple" category, do we start holding hands? Does he have to pay for me at dinner now? Buy me flowers?

I shook my head. "Listen, Evelyn. I get what you're saying, but Darien and I just started out. I don't want to make things anymore confusing than it already is. I mean everyone has doubts at this stage, but I don't know if the reader would enjoy going through all of that. The thing is the reader can see the end of the book is approaching; I don't think they'd want another problem to arise. Think about it from the reader's point of view. It's maybe 1 A.M. in the morning, she has work or school tomorrow, but she can't wait to get to the end of the book and have a good night's sleep. Then towards the end, some more problems come up and now she can't sleep peacefully. See, I'm doing it for the benefit of the reader. They want a story to make them happy, not make them sad. So they pick my book up because they know I can deliver."

Evelyn smiled, but it wasn't the sort of smile I was used to seeing. It made me kind of nervous actually. "Since when did you write for the reader's benefit, Serena?"

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I-I… what do you mean?"

Evelyn stood up and walked to the side of her desk, facing the window. "There was a client who came in once. She had a sparkle in her eye that showed me what a newbie she was," she chuckled, "But it also showed me that she had a passion for her writing. She wanted to tell the world a story, her story, something that no one else could duplicate or take from her because it was _hers_. And she went on to being a great success story, but lately I've wondered if things were beginning to change, if she was losing sight of her original vision, of herself."

She turned around and faced me. "Is this true, Serena? Do you not see yourself anymore? Have you chased the dream of love for so long that you've lost sight of who you were?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

She continued on, walking slowly around her office. "The idea of love as obsessed many for ages. What starts out as a pure passion turns into something… else. Love is about taking risks. If you play it safe all the time, then you end up letting yourself down."

"I did take a risk Evelyn. I took a risk by going to him when I wasn't sure he would still accept me." I looked down. "I thought I had a good chance of losing him."

Evelyn came to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. "I know you did honey, and I know how hard that was for you. I'm not saying you didn't take a risk there, but I'm asking you, if you really want to be real about this story, real about _him_, you need to take it one step further."

I looked up. "What are you suggesting?"

"I don't want this to be the ending. I want a real ending out of you, one that isn't really an ending."

"What? I'm confused. You want an ending but not an ending?"

"An ending doesn't have to be an end; it can be a continuation. What I mean is, I want you to explore with this. Every romance story out there ends up with the new couple, happy at last, then it's like the camera fades into the distance and it ends. But what kind of ending is that? Does real life really work that way? You want to give the readers a happy ending _and _something real, you can't stop there. You have to go further."

"Further? What do you mean further?"

Evelyn shrugged in her navy-blue blazer. "I don't know! You tell me! You're the one going out with him! Tell the readers what it's like! The newness of being a new couple. The awkwardness. Whatever makes you happy!" She pulled me out of the chair, shoved my manuscript in my hands, and pushed me towards the door. "Now go! Go write and be happy!"

I resisted her like a person who was about to be sent to the gallows. "But…but how am I going to continue? This is how I always end a story! I… I don't know what to do after that!"

Evelyn pushed me through the doorway and swung the door to her side. "Listen, honey. You're the writer, not me. You need to use that little brain of yours and give me something fantastic. Something that will make this book fly off all the shelves in the world! Don't play it safe! Goodbye!"

She smiled almost too gleefully and slammed the door on me.

Ugh.

What was I going to do now?

-+-

The walk home was refreshing. I thought I'd do some thinking so I decided to walk the twenty city blocks from Evelyn's office. Though most of the way back was filled with polluted air, the last few blocks home smelled like the beginnings of rain and autumn. For some reason, I loved the smell of the earth after the rain. To some people, the falling of leaves is the end of summer and the coming of a dreary winter. But to me, I think it's a small hope of things to come. When the leaves fall onto the ground, they're kind of like nutrition for the soil. After all the leaves fall, it's like everything goes through a deep slumber, waiting for its time to burst out alive again.

Have I been sleeping these past few years? For the first time in a long time, I felt alive again, like I could go anywhere, do anything, and I'd be okay. I didn't quite understand these feelings I was happening, but I felt like I was given a new hope. I wasn't Serena, the writer. Or even Serena, Darien's best friend. I was me again. Serena DREXEL, the girl who gazed off into the distance during class and read tons of novels when everyone thought it was nerdy to do so. And there was my best friend…Darien, who didn't think it was nerdy at all.

I smiled, feeling content for the first time in a long while. It's as though I've been waiting my whole life for me to feel this way, like I was warm down to my toes. I hugged myself a bit tighter and walked into my apartment building. As I was about to unlock my door, the scent of something tasty happily greeted my nose. Could it be? Was Darien preparing something?

"Darien Rehnquist. Get your butt off the couch!" I smiled. Some things never change. And here I was hoping he'd start being romantic now and prepare a nice lunch. But no, my coffee table was littered with little white cartons from our local Chinese takeout place. Hurray.

Darien settled more comfortably into my couch, as though he's been there all morning. "Great! You're just in time. The food came just a few minutes ago."

Despite the unromanticness of Chinese takeout, I was eager for some food. It was a bit past noon and I was starving. I sat down cross-legged on the opposite side of the coffee table and helped open the cartons. "Did you get my favorite?"

"Yep! Sesame chicken right here with extra of those cracker things that you like."

"Aww…that's so sweet!" There were benefits of dating your best friend.

"Don't aww me, you owe me twelve bucks for your order, plus tax and delivery charge."

I made a face. You know the one. "But I'm the girl! You're supposed to pay for me!"

Darien stopped unpacking the carton of rice and stared at me. "Please, don't tell me you're into that stuff. I thought you were a modern woman. You know, insisting on opening your own doors and everything? Besides, you earn more than I do. It is you who should be treating me."

I grumbled and maybe even pouted a little, "Just because I'm a modern woman doesn't mean I don't like being treated occasionally."

"Occasionally? Whose idea was it to go to a fancy dinner last night? Who paid for dinner and the taxi ride?"

"All right, all right. You win. Now- "

"And what's with the idea of having to treat girls special to be considered a gentleman? If women want equal status, they shouldn't expect to be treated like a delicate flower."

"Woah, boy," I stopped in mid-bite of my tasty sesame chicken, "What's gotten your panties in a bunch?"

He moved the couch back so there was room for him to sit on the floor and eat comfortably from the coffee table. "My mother called this morning. She was nagging me again about finding a steady girlfriend and getting married and giving her grandchildren, blah blah. The usual."

I blinked. "So, have you told her?"

He continued to chomp on his food as though it were made of stone. "Told her what?" he said, a little annoyed.

"About…us."

"Oh." He stopped chewing and looked around thoughtfully. Really, my living room wasn't that exciting. This was the expression he gave when he was coming up with a good answer, usually pulled out of his ass.

"Well?"

He swung his neck from side to side with a perturbed look on his face, the one he used when he was reaaally stretching for an answer. "Well… it's just a bit… complicated. I can't just tell my mom, 'Hey! I'm currently seeing the woman that you've known since she was in diapers and we ran around naked together, say congratulations for us!"

I blinked. "What's wrong with that?"

Darien looked at me exasperatedly. "You know what's wrong! Every time I tell her I'm dating someone new, she lectures me about wasting my time with unqualified girls. That sort of lecture I know how to deal with. But what will she say when I tell her about you? She'll probably start making plans for the wedding!"

I sat there in disbelief. "Wh-What? What are you talking about? Your mom isn't like that!"

"You don't know her Serena! She gets crazy about things like this, especially now that I'm perilously close to 30. I-I don't want her to make a big deal about…about…" his voice trailed off and he wouldn't look me in the eye."

I put my chopsticks down and saw red. "About what? About nothing? You think this is nothing? Am I going to be another girl that you dump?"

"What? I never dump anyone!"

I stood up and stared him down. "Oh, excuse me, don't call them or return their calls and passively wait for them to dump you. And that wasn't even the point! Why won't you tell your mom about us?" I suddenly had an epiphany. "Oh…I get it now. You don't have the guts to be in this relationship do you? What are you afraid of, Darien?"

Darien still wouldn't look at me, and a sudden bit of fear clung to me. I sat down next to him and asked softly. "What are you afraid of?" I stroked his hair and turned his head toward me. "It's me, Serena. Your buddy, your pal. How can you be afraid? It's just me."

Darien finally looked up and put his hand over mine. It was then that I realized how close we were. "I'm afraid of losing you, Serena. You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you." He tucked my hair behind my ear in a familiar gesture. "What I said about my mom was partially true. She'd go bonkers and might push us when we we're not ready. Right now, I just feel like I've finally done something right and everything is as good as it's never been. I don't want anything to mess that up right now, not when I've waited such a long time to feel this way. I guess you could say I'm feeling a bit paranoid. This is you; you're not some girl I met at a club. I don't want this to go wrong. You get what I'm saying?"

I nodded and almost felt the push of tears behind my eyes. Damn hormones. "Yea, that's exactly what I feel. I don't want us to mess up either. You mean too much to me Darien." I shook my head. "You're right. I want it to be just us, with no third party meddling in. I'm sorry, I don't know why I overreacted."

He smoothed his hands over my hair and gave a small peck on my forehead like he always did. "That's ok. I'm sorry too. I should know better than try to hide from you."

He smiled at me, and it was that brilliant smile that somehow made my heart jump a few extra beats. When did Darien have that effect on me? He ran his fingers through the length of my hair and tickled the nape of my neck.

"Your hair's so warm and soft," he whispered.

I only nodded, suddenly at lost for words.

He began massaging my neck and all thoughts escaped me. I felt his breath close to mine, until they intermingled. At this point, the only awareness was the scent of him and the feel of his breath getting closer and closer to my lips.

His lips were soft and cushiony as they gently pressed against mine. I leaned forward and lightly licked his lips, silently asking for permission. He opened to me and our tongues tentatively tasted each other, as though caught in their own dance, dancing in tune to their own music.

I don't know who pulled away first, but we looked at each other, breathless.

I eyed him suspiciously, "Not fair! You knew my weak spot. You knew I'd fall over if you massaged me there."

His eyes twinkled as he grinned at me, rather like a Cheshire cat. "Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do."

I glared at him. But inside, my heart was beating a mile a minute and I couldn't get over that tingly warm feeling that his kiss left me with. It was that sort of warm feeling you'd get snuggling up to your favorite blanket, reading your favorite book. The sort of feeling that warms you to your soul.

Darien smiled gently at me. It must've been the lighting or something, but it was like I could see the world through his eyes.

Whatever romantic experts say about communication and intimacy, this feeling couldn't be explained in words or steps. There's nothing like it in the world, and once you feel it, you know it's right. Now I understood what all those poets and writers have been writing about for centuries. Scientifically speaking, it was this funny feeling that started in the center of my chest, wiggled through my tummy, danced pass my bum, and trickled down to the tips of my toes. Rather like Happiness, Contentment, and a Secret Ingredient mixed together in a little bottle that gave a big blast. Perhaps this was the formula for a perfect life, but something told me that mysterious ingredient contained a wildness about it that tended to throw things out of whack. I wasn't ready to poke at it too much, lest it reared its ugly head and threw me into oblivion. For now, I was happy with the way things were, and maybe looking a bit into the future. Who knows what pleasant surprise I'll find?

\_el fin_\

P.S. I bet you're wondering who won the bet.

I did of course. Evelyn was ecstatic with my not-ending. Just how much of a twist can you give to a news story before you call it a lie? Of course, Darien insists it's a tie. His story did end up on the front page, though it was on this tiny column to the side. He did gain a bit of a following after that. But I _did _sell fifty percent more copies than any of my previous books, hitting number one bestseller on several lists. What can I say? I'm a woman; he's a man with pride. We decided to call it even. Besides, I was looking forward to spending a lot of alone time on our cruise. Nothing warms the body up like sunbathing and a little afternoon playtime.

Who said life wasn't perfect?

Well, almost.


End file.
